A Heart's Desire
by Slynnwen
Summary: Harry has just found out that he's a wizard, but it still feels like there's something missing from his life. If only there was something he could use to figure out what that was... Year 1 of my transgirl!Harry series.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimers and Warnings and whatnot

I don't own the characters, settings, etc. Those belong to JKR.

The fic is going to have LGBTQ+ characters and if you can't handle that, don't bother reading it.

Harry's sleep was ended, as usual, by the sun shining through the slats on the door to the cupboard he called his bedroom. He was both relieved and saddened by this, since while he was up early enough to start getting dressed before his aunt or uncle began stomping down the stairs, he hadn't slept enough to fully dissipate the pain from yesterday's beating from Uncle Vernon.

He had been caught doodling flowers in his notebooks again, and his uncle was growing increasingly determined to 'beat the freakishness out,' as it were. If Harry was being honest with himself, he didn't know why he had begun drawing the flowers in the first place. His best guess was a sense of misguided affection for his late mother, who he knew was named Lily. Misguided, because at this point, he was actually cross with her for getting into a car crash and leaving him with her unpleasant sister. Still, there was nothing to be done for it now, and he began the process of checking each bruise to make sure it would be completely covered by his clothing. Uncle Vernon had made clear by now that drawing any sort of unwanted attention would both not actually change his living situation, and just get the beating revisited upon him tenfold. In a way, he was glad that he was still so short for his age and his cousin so large. It was much easier to hide anything underneath his cousin's massive cast-offs that way. Harry, satisfied that he'd managed to get all the bruises covered by his cousin's ratty old t-shirt, took the last few minutes of relative freedom to rearrange the few things he'd saved in his cupboard.

Like all good things, though, that freedom had to come to an end. Harry had barely started looking over the slightly beat up toy soldiers before he could hear Aunt Petunia coming down the stairs, shaking dust onto his already quite messy black hair. When he heard the sounds of someone starting to cook in the kitchen, he decided he had time to try and fix at least one thing. A short ruffling later and his hair was mostly free of detritus. It wouldn't lie flat enough to cover the lightning bolt shaped scar (which, surprisingly enough, hadn't come from his uncle) on his forehead, though, and he was out of time. Aunt Petunia had begun banging on the door. He quickly grabbed his taped up glasses and put them on over his emerald green eyes.

"Boy! Get up!" She hissed through the slats, poking fingers through to lift them and peer through. "I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let any of it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday!"

Harry groaned internally, he had almost forgotten the date after the pain from last night. Still though, with today being Dudley's birthday, it did probably mean that he would either get out of the house or be left to himself for a while. "Coming, Aunt Petunia." he said, swinging his legs back off the bed, waiting for her to open the door (which locked on the outside).

Petunia was rather tall and had all too much neck, in Harry's opinion, but she at least made the most of it by spying on the neighbors, sticking her head over the fence. She wasn't pretty, but she wasn't not-pretty either. Thin and blonde, but just not able to gather it into a coherent look of her own, instead dredging up whatever the latest gossip magazine said she should do. Although, Harry thought, maybe that was being unfair to the magazines. They couldn't exactly tailor themselves to the people reading them, and the one time he'd gotten his hands on one the advice seemed sound. Though he- Right, Aunt Petunia was yelling at him, no time to think about fashion magazines. "And don't you dare get anything filthy from that cupboard in the food or on the clean kitchen floor!" This time, Harry was unable to fully hold back the groan, and it earned him a sharp rap across the knuckles from the wooden spoon in Petunia's hand. "Don't you complain about it, you're the one that can't keep themselves clean."

Harry thought this was perhaps unfair, as he was barely even allowed to use the shower if he hadn't started smelling bad enough to reach the hallway, but wisely decided that the best response was a simple "Yes, Aunt Petunia." As he was led into the kitchen, his first thought was that the table was probably going to collapse under the sheer weight of the presents on it. It appeared as though Dudley was going to receive everything he had asked for, and then some. Idly, Harry wondered if he would end up being able to salvage anything from this crop of toys, once his cousin inevitably broke them. However, his attention was sharply drawn back to the bacon when a pop of grease stung him through a poorly placed hole on his shirt. He turned the bacon over as the bulk of Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen.

"Can't you comb your hair, you filthy freak?" said Uncle Vernon as he took a seat at the table. Harry wondered which would collapse first at this point, the table under the weight of his cousin's presents, or the chair his walrus of an uncle was sitting on. If Aunt Petunia had ended up with twice the usual amount of neck, Harry supposed that she might have stolen it all from Uncle Vernon. His uncle had a rather large mustache and was quite beefy, in that if he was a cow, he might feed a small village or at least supply the local burger place. "No respect for proper manners, would have thought last night was a good enough lesson." continued Vernon, beginning to build back up to a good head of steam that would probably end in another beating this night, if Harry wasn't careful. Thankfully, the incoming diatribe was cut off by the re-entrance of Aunt Petunia, with Dudley in tow.

Harry had moved onto frying eggs by this point, and was beginning to plate them up when Aunt Petunia spoke. "Oh, my precious birthday boy, I can't believe you're growing so fast!" As Harry placed the plates in front of his family, he considered that perhaps his cousin wouldn't be growing so fast and so sideways if Dudley would just exercise some restraint when it came to eating, and exercise at all when it came to outdoor activities. Harry's internal dialogue was interrupted by Dudley screwing up his face in concentration as he tried to count out all the presents he had received.

"Thirty-seven." he said, looking at his mother and father. "That's one less than last year." Harry began eating as much excess food as he thought he could get away with, as he was just as likely to go without food tonight as he was last night. Dudley was not going to be happy with any amount of presents less than what he had previously gotten, and if Dudley wasn't happy it was quite likely that Harry wouldn't be happy either.

"You sure you counted all of them? Even the one under this big one from Mummy and Daddy?" said Aunt Petunia, valiantly trying to defuse a volatile situation, based on the deep red color of Dudley's face.

"I can count! I got that one already!" Dudley said, starting to shout enough that bits of bacon and eggs were flying from his mouth.

"And we thought that you might want to pick up some things from the gift shop at the zoo today, so that would be at least two more!" Aunt Petunia was clearly desperate to make this day perfect for her dear Duddykins. "That would make thirty-nine!"

"Oh," said Dudley, "That's all right then."

"Little tyke wants to get his money's worth, just like his old man! Atta boy, Dudley!" Vernon said, reaching over to ruffle Dudley's hair. The touching family moment was interrupted by the telephone ringing, causing Aunt Petunia to stand up suddenly and jostle the table. Thankfully, nothing was dislodged as Dudley began ripping open his presents.

"We've got a problem, Vernon." she said, reappearing with a scowl on her face. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. We can't send the boy to her today." Dudley's mouth fell open into something more befitting one of his horror movies as Harry felt a strange pang of hope. He never got to go with his cousin on trips, and certainly never to somewhere as exciting as the zoo. Mrs. Figg was certainly a step up from being locked in the cupboard, but she positively reeked of cats and cabbage. She was the very picture of a 'senile old cat lady,' and Harry didn't know how the dumpy woman hadn't broken her leg sooner with all her pet cats underfoot. "Now what?" Aunt Petunia shot Harry a look that clearly indicated that she thought he had somehow planned this, or perhaps was responsible for Mrs. Figg breaking her leg in the first place.

Vernon took a moment to think before responding. "We could try and phone my sister, she'll put some proper manners into him."

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she loathes the boy. She'd hardly want to waste her time on a freak like him." Briefly the thought passed through Harry's mind that they'd actually managed to forget he was standing right there and could hear every word they said, but he quickly quashed it by reminding himself that they frequently said worse directly to his face, so this was hardly surprising.

"What about your friend, whats-her-name, Yvette?"

"Yvonne, and she's on holiday in the Maldives," snapped back Aunt Petunia.

Harry thought he might as well take the opportunity to, if nothing else, at least get a better second option going. "Why not just leave me here?" It wasn't as good as going to the zoo (or anywhere in public, really, the Dursleys seemed oddly reluctant to hit him or even berate him in public), but it would at least give him time to sneak some food into the cupboard and maybe even watch some TV.

"And come back to the house burned to the ground?" said Aunt Petunia, looking as if she'd bitten into a lemon.

"I promise not to blow up the house." was Harry's reply, since, after all, blowing up the house without them in it wouldn't do him a bit of good.

Aunt Petunia looked over, the distaste on her face more in line with stepping in a pile of dog droppings than looking at her nephew. "We could take him to the zoo, leave him in the car..." she said, drawing out the words as though they were physically painful for her to say.

Uncle Vernon's head shot over to her. "That's a brand new car, I'll not leave him in it alone! Besides, someone might see and think it strange." It was at this point Dudley began to cry. Or rather, pretended to, at any rate, since it had been years since he had actually done so. He knew, however, that just making the motions would cause his mother to give him anything he wanted.

"Dinky Duddydums, don't cry! Mummy won't let him spoil your special day!" she said, somehow managing to fling her arms around him.

"I don't want him to come!" Dudley yelled between huge pretend sobs. "He always spoils everything!" Dudley took the momentary distraction of Aunt Petunia to grin menacingly at Harry through her arms. Harry almost thought it touching, that Dudley would care so much about him to deny him any sort of joy at all. The moment was ruined when the doorbell rang.

"Oh, Good Lord, they're here!" said Aunt Petunia, frantically shifting to try and help make Dudley more presentable. A moment later, Dudley's best friend Piers Polkiss had walked in with his mother, and the decision was made to just bring Harry along to the zoo.

/-|-o-o|-\

A few hours later, Harry was still somewhat in shock that he had actually made it to the zoo. More than that, he had even gotten some ice cream when his cousin had complained that his wasn't big enough, and the original was given to him while his cousin got a new one. They were all in the snake exhibit now, and Harry was eagerly looking around while his cousin stomped around, trying to find one that was doing something interesting. Harry took the opportunity to glance over at an exhibit for a boa constrictor from Brazil. The snake appeared to be sleeping, since it was curled up tightly with no sign of which end was its head and which its tail.

 _"_ _What I wouldn't give to be able to just sleep all day like that."_ said Harry, wondering if the snake was happy in the tank. At his words, the snake seemed to suddenly wake up, slithering until a head slowly turned to point at Harry. _"Sss, not that I'd want to be in a cage?"_

 _"She speaks? Hello, Lady Speaker."_ replied the snake, tongue darting in and out as it started moving closer to the glass separating it from Harry. _"It has been so long since there has been a Speaker, long before my time."_

Harry felt something strange curling in his gut as he heard the snake talk. It wasn't so much that he was talking to a snake (which, if the snippets he'd overheard from the tour guide were accurate, shouldn't have any ears), since he'd quite like to be able to talk to snakes. They were frequent guests during his gardening at his relative's house. Rather, why had the snake called him 'Lady Speaker?' He guessed it wasn't so bad, and he really wouldn't complain too much. It wasn't, after all, anything worse than what he'd been called at school by his cousin. Just odd. If being called a girl was the price for talking to snakes, he supposed it was worth it. He just wished it didn't make him feel so strange.

 _"I think I might be as surprised as you are, to be honest._ _Is the zoo any better than Brazil?"_ asked Harry, hoping that he'd be able to have a semi-normal conversation for once. A quick point of the snake's tail towards the plaque Harry had been reading earlier showed a line that he'd missed on first glance. 'Bred in Captivity.' _"I see. Are you at least happy here?"_ Harry paused for a moment. _"And do you have a name?"_

 _"_ _I get free food in exchange for limited space, and a lack of predators. Still, I do wish I could hunt. My name is He-Who-Grows-Fat-On-Slothfullness, she-speaker. What is yours?"_

However, before Harry could respond, Piers gave a yell, seeing the movement of the snake who Harry had decided to simply refer to as 'Sloth.' "Dudley! Mr. Dursley! Look at the snake, come and look at what it's doing!"

Dudley lumbered over as fast as he could, punching Harry in the side as he came past. "Out of the way, freak." Harry, who hadn't been expecting his cousin to be able to move so fast, stumbled and fell onto the concrete floor. As he looked up at Dudley and felt his anger at him grow, because they were in public and Harry knew that he'd be blamed for 'making a spectacle' later, he felt a slight tingle on his arms, and suddenly the glass on Sloth's display was gone. Dudley and Piers both let out moans of horror, jumping back as the snake uncoiled himself and slithered out across the floor. People started screaming throughout the reptile house, their guide from before too shocked to do much more than stammer and try to calm down the visitors streaming past her.

 _"Thank you, she-speaker, for granting me the freedom to hunt once more. If you are ever able to visit Brazil, that is where I am headed."_ Harry turned his head to watch Sloth go, hearing the staff in the background wonder about where the glass had gone.

/-|-o-o|-\

Later that day, Harry was back at his relative's house and Piers had been pushed out the door by Uncle Vernon, unhelpfully commenting that he had seen Harry hissing at the snake beforehand. Cautiously, Harry turned to look up at his Uncle's face, which had turned several shades of alarming colors by this point. Aunt Petunia had already taken Dudley upstairs, where he had been overheard loudly complaining that Harry had spoiled his birthday trip.

"We've warned you time and time again, freak." said Vernon, his voice low and strained. "I had hoped I'd have beaten it out of you by now, but I can see that I've not been trying hard enough." Harry took a step back reflexively, trying to get distance between him and his uncle without making it too obvious.

"Please, Uncle Vernon, I don't know how it happened. I didn't want anything to go wrong!" said Harry, almost surprised that he meant it. He'd prefer to have had nothing happen and just been able to finish talking to Sloth. Setting a boa loose on his cousin was funny for a few seconds, sure, but it wasn't worth whatever was about to come, not now after the beating from last night.

"Don't you lie to me, Boy! If you didn't want it to happen, then how did it?" said Vernon, beginning to scream, flecks of spittle coming out of his mouth. "If you didn't want to ruin my son's birthday, why were all of your babysitters out of reach!?" Vernon appeared to take Harry's lack of response and slightly shocked look as confirmation of his belief instead of the bewilderment it actually was. "THOUGHT I WOULDN'T FIGURE OUT, DID YOU!?" Just as Vernon drew back his fist to hit Harry, there was a knocking on the door. Vernon sent a rage filled look at Harry and spoke in a whisper that still held all the malice from before, "Get in your cupboard, freak, and don't come out if you know what's good for you!"

As Harry darted into his cupboard, unsure of when he'd next see daylight, he heard Mrs. Figg through the doorway. "I was just coming over to ask for some cream, but is everything alright? I thought I heard shouting..."

/-|-o-o|-\

As Mrs. Figg sat down in front of her fireplace that night, a few kneazles walking across her lap, she tried to figure out what she was going to tell Albus. She hadn't actually seen anything untoward happening to little Harry, but that just meant that the Dursleys were getting better at hiding it, she thought. And she could have sworn she saw the poor dear going into the cupboard underneath the stairs like it was a punishment! Albus said he was trying to find someone new to watch him, but he had been saying that for over a year now. The last hint of an attack aimed at the Dursleys was over four years ago now, and even then it hadn't been anything serious. Shaking her head, she grabbed a handful of floo powder and tossed it into the fireplace.

"Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts!" The flames turned green as the connection was made, and she carefully stepped through.

The office of the headmaster had a wall positively covered in portraits, all moving about and some chatting with each other. There were tables and desks full of trinkets that burbled and whirred, bookshelves covering the walls full of old and rare tomes, and an empty perch made of gold off to one side. Just as Mrs. Figg entered the room from the fireplace, the door opened and the headmaster himself stepped through. He was in his usual attire, a robe with the colors chosen seemingly at random to be as eye-watering as possible. Today that was a deep purple, with small neon pink bowling balls rolling around the fabric. Some even seemed to be trying to treat his lengthy white beard as pins. "Ah, Arabella. It's good to see you, and if I may say, good to see that you've recovered from this morning!"

The greeting that he gave her was friendly enough, she supposed, but not enough to detract from her reason for being there that evening. "The leg is fine, the skele-gro you sent over from Severus this morning did wonders." She paused a moment to glance towards the one desk in the room covered by parchment instead of doodads. "But I suspect that the report I'm about to give is one we'd both rather be sitting down for?"

"Quite right, my dear. By all means, take a seat." He took his wand from his pocket, a brief flash of jealously flaring up in Mrs. Figg's mind before she quashed it. A quick wave and an overly cushy armchair spiraled into being in front of the desk, which she sat in as Albus sat behind the desk. "Now, what did you need me for, Arabella?"

"It's getting worse for him there, Albus, and I don't think our biggest concern is attacks from the outside any more." The headmaster's face grew more grim as she spoke. "Just this evening I'm fairly certain that I caught the husband about to beat the boy within an inch of his life!"

Albus sighed as he rubbed the bridge of his nose, the glasses that he wore sliding up with the motion. "I'm still searching, but I do not believe it's worth it for him to lose the protection of his mother's blood. That is a powerful protection that, once lost, will never be regained."

"I know I never had the chance to study such things, Albus, but the fact of the matter is that the love you've claimed those protections are based on just doesn't exist in that home. I suspect that they've got him in a cupboard as punishment!" Albus held up his hand, and she belatedly realized that she'd started moving out of her chair.

"And that is why I'm still searching. The fact that the last few years have been quiet, and the fact that I've still not heard any concrete rumours of Voldemort-" he trailed off, seeming too deep in thought for words for a moment. "I shall hope that I am wrong, and if that is the case, after Harry's first year here, still the case, I will attempt to place him with a suitable family he has made friends with."

"So another month of ignorance, for him, and then only a month after that until he's gone?" Arabella tried not to let too much of her hope creep into her voice. While she was primarily concerned for Harry, she too would like to be rid of Surrey, and the way the neighbors looked down on her for every bit of her they deemed strange.

Albus let out a small sigh. "While I am hopeful, Arabella, it would be for the best if you remained there for a while longer. And you absolutely musn't tell the boy of our world or your place in it. He scarce needs such a shock, and there is always the deal with the Dursleys to consider."

Arabella sank into the chair a bit further. "I still don't understand it, Albus. I can understand wanting to minimize contact with us, but forbidding it altogether?"

"It was their condition for accepting Harry into their home. I can only hope that getting him his Hogwarts letter does not spark something more violent." He leaned back, and the weight on his shoulders seemed to lift a bit as he thought of something. "I may have to send Hagrid for the task, simply to ensure that they don't, ah, 'Shoot the Messenger,' as it were." A small chuckle escaped him. "Or perhaps, so that even if they do, there won't be any hard feelings."

"Are you sure it wouldn't be better to have Minerva handle things? She's more than capable of dressing muggle, and we're still not sure if Mrs. Dursley's told her husband." Arabella wrung her hands, the nervousness she felt coming through quite clearly.

"That may be, but she is somewhat busy of late. Overtures have been made recently from the ministry about events at Hogwarts, and I'm still not entirely certain what Fudge is planning." He shrugged. "Still, if you think Minerva might do better..."

She sighed. "I'm almost certain of it. From what I've seen in that house, they wouldn't have told him anything."

Albus looked at her, the normally present twinkle in his eye missing. "Is it truly that terrible for him there?"

Arabella tried to gather her thoughts. Sure, she was almost certain that things were that terrible, but she wasn't completely certain. Best to just lay out the facts for Albus, surely. "I've not seen a single picture of Harry or his parents in the house, and all the outside work for the past few years has been done by him. Even in the middle of summer, he's been in the yard doing work all day. His cousin frequently mocks him and I've heard rumours of a game called 'Harry Hunting.' Scared the daylights out of me at first, thought it was Death Eaters until I realized that it was a bunch of six and seven year olds talking. He's always looked underweight, which is a marvel compared to his cousin, and from the looks of things he's wearing his cousin's old hand-me-downs instead of a proper wardrobe." With each statement, the weary look on the headmaster's face grew deeper. "I haven't seen any hard evidence of beatings, but he's had limps or stiffness more than someone that age should, and you know that magicals are harder to injure and heal faster than most muggles."

"Then I shall throw more of my not inconsiderable weight into finding a suitable home for him after this coming year. I can only hope that Voldemort truly is dead after all these years."

/-|-o-o|-\

AN: " _Sss_ " is a replacement in parseltongue for pauses such as 'um,' 'uh,' and the like.

Arabella wouldn't have a reaction to Voldemort's name as a squib, who was by and large removed from the conflict.

Parts that seem almost like they came from the book are, in fact, probably from the book, just slightly rephrased to better fit the tone of the story.

If you're going to say "but the abuse wasn't that bad in canon" well, A) you are probably correct, but there's other factors here and also B) If this was canon I'd hardly be writing it as a fanfic, now would I?


	2. Chapter 2

Albus Dumbledore sighed from behind the mounds of parchment on top of his desk that he had yet to sort through. At the moment he was expecting a visit from his deputy headmistress, one of the few individuals who he allowed to see the sheer volume of letters he had to deal with on a daily basis. Just as he finished putting the last touches on a response to a missive from the minister (no, restrictions on underage magic did not need to be tightened, it was hard enough keeping the children learning during the school year without the loss of the summer months), the gargoyle on his desk turned towards him and clearly intoned "Minerva McGonagall, one try, slightly harried." Albus leaned back, mentally counting off the time needed for her to get to the top of the stairs.

"Come in, Minerva." The door to the office swung open to admit a severe looking older woman who had on deep green robes and a pointed witch's hat of the same color. She spared a glance towards the phoenix on her perch, and turned back towards Albus. "Lemon drop?"

She eyed the proffered sweet as though it had personally wronged her. "No." She moved towards his desk, eyes sweeping over the stacks of letters and scattered parchments. "Albus. I don't suppose I could convince you to give up one of your positions or your atrocious robes?" She said as she took a seat across from him, studying his bright blue robes with animated nifflers searching up gold on it with some measure of distaste.

"No, and I think they go together rather well. If I ever get buried under parchment, all you need to do is look for the bright colors and you'll have me out in no time." He chuckled. "Though if you didn't look all that hard, I might not complain."

She frowned and smoothed out her robes before responding. "I'll just set fire to the pile and hope to get your robes as well." That got a deeper laugh from the man, and seemed to push back some of the age lines on him for a moment. Just as fast, though, they were back as he started to speak again.

"Well, I'll make sure my robes are all spelled fireproof then. But I didn't exactly ask for you to discuss my wardrobe, Minerva." There was a pause, as he considered how to continue. "I was visited by Arabella again last night and she brought up an interesting point." A raised eyebrow from Minerva was the reaction. "With how things have seemed at Harry's residence, it would appear as though he might be better suited to the standard muggleborn visit rather than just having The Book send out his letter."

Minerva frowned. "Albus, are you trying to tell me that those muggles haven't told the boy anything?"

"By all indications, no. Obviously, we can't be certain, since we haven't talked to anyone there." He rubbed at his forehead. "Part of their conditions for accepting the boy included that no one from our world have contact with them."

Minerva's lips pursed at that. "And you just accepted that? What possible reason could you have for letting him grow up so isolated?"

"It might not be the most comforting for him, but if you remember any of what Lily's relationship with her sister was like..." He sighed. "I think that Mrs. Dursley was hoping that by avoiding contact with us, she wouldn't have her new family torn apart the way she and her sister were."

Minerva gave a slight nod at that. "I can remember a few times in Lily's first couple of years where she was rather distraught over the fact that her sister wouldn't write back to her."

"Well, in any case, I think it might be best for you to be the one to deliver the letter and make introductions. I can't imagine she's avoided telling her husband, so you should at least be able to talk to both of them without too much disbelief." He reached into one of the stacks of parchment and deftly plucked out two envelopes. "I've made a standard form acceptance letter for Harry and a separate letter for Mrs. Dursley."

"What's in the letter for her?" asked Minerva.

"A few reminders of everything that must happen, and a hopeful indication that Harry will not need to stay with them much longer, provided a suitable alternative guardian can be found after this year at Hogwarts." Albus said.

Minerva narrowed her eyes at him. "You're actually going to give up on the blood wards?"

"I've had no sign of actual death eater activity by the house for at least four years now, and despite looking I've also seen no trace or remnant of Voldemort." Minerva flinched at the name, and Albus let out a sigh. "Perhaps the indications that he's moved on might inspire some more common usage of his name, hmm?"

"Not all of us were a match for him in single combat, Albus." she said.

"I suppose that is a fair enough assessment. Now, did you have any more concerns for me?"

"Nothing that can't wait until after I've given Mr. Potter his letter."

Albus watched as she stood up and walked out of the room, turning back to his desk before the floo started up and his old mentor's face appeared in the flames. "Nicolas? Is something wrong?"

"Someone's attempted to breach the protections on the stone. Do you think you can help set up a trap for them?"

/-|-o-o|-\

Harry was working in his Aunt's garden behind the house. The Dursleys had finally seen fit to let him out of the cupboard after the snake incident, almost a month after his punishment had started. Oh, they had let him out for school and the occasional bathroom/meal times, but he had still spent every other moment in there until the term had ended. This hadn't stopped them from blaming him for the slightly overgrown lawn and less than perfect flowers, of course. No, if only he had kept his head down they wouldn't have had to punish him so severely. He stabbed the dirt a little more forcefully with his trowel. It was too hot to be working outside all day, and he almost wished he was back inside where at least he'd be slightly cooler. Harry was hoping that maybe a snake would show up for some conversation, that way he'd at least be able to talk with someone about things. "Gah!" A sudden crack like a car backfiring had made him look up for a moment and accidentally hit his thumb with the trowel. Still, he had to dismiss it as unimportant. A neighbor's vehicle blowing out wasn't his problem, and he'd had worse than a sore thumb and a bit of a cut. He wasn't going to let a distraction earn him more beatings for slacking off.

It was a surprise a few minutes later when Aunt Petunia appeared out the backdoor. "Boy! Get in the house and get cleaned up, there's someone here to see you."

Harry quickly stood and put the tools on the ground next to the gardens. It wasn't likely that this visit would take long. "Coming, Aunt Petunia." He quickly made his way to the bathroom and tried to get as much dirt and grime off as possible. Visitors that were seeing him was one of the few chances he had to actually use the good soap and towels, since anything else would be too suspicious. A quick check of his thumb showed that it had already stopped bleeding and the cut looked more like it had been inflicted a few days ago. Harry debated whether or not he should take the chance on getting laid out later for using a bandage to cover it up. Too obvious a cut might bring on more attention than the Dursleys wanted, but wasting more money on him was equally bad in their eyes. In the end he decided against it. He stepped out of the bathroom and headed into the sitting room where he saw his Aunt and an older looking woman who he guessed to be in her early sixties. "Hello."

The woman was dressed in what appeared to be a rather old fashioned dress colored a deep green. She looked up at him with some sense of... wistfulness, maybe? He couldn't tell. "Hello, Mr. Potter. My name is Professor McGonagall. What I'm about to tell you might come as a shock, so it'd be best for you to be seated before we begin."

Harry looked over at his Aunt, who gave a jerky nod of acceptance. It wasn't often that he was allowed on the couch, even when there were visitors. "Alright, Professor McGonagall." He began thinking over possibilities in his head over why she might have shown up while he took a seat. He knew Dudley was going off to Smeltings, but he had been marked down for Stonewall High, which didn't seem the sort of institution that had professors. Had there been some sort of mistake and he was marked down for Smeltings as well? No, he didn't have the grades, not with how he had to make sure he was just below his cousin in class.

"There's no easy way to say this, Mr. Potter, so I'll just come right out with it. You are a wizard, and you've been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Harry stared at her, and glanced over towards his Aunt. This, this had to be a new low for his Aunt and Uncle. What where they trying to do, get him committed? As he turned back to protest, his eyes caught on his Aunt's face and instead of the expected distaste and glee at having a plan for being rid of him, he found what seemed like pure terror. "Your parents have already paid for your tuition, and you've got a sizable trust vault to see you through your school years until you can access the main accounts."

At this, Harry gave a laugh. "You're saying what, that I've just got some money tucked away by my parents?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter. You do indeed have money." Her lips were pursed, and he suddenly realized that while he had washed up, he was still in one of his worst outfits.

"And you happen to be the one with access to it?" He said, idly fingering a hole on the bottom of the t-shirt he was wearing. "Not my relatives?"

The professor gave him a look as if he had just failed some sort of test. "If that is the state of your clothing, I should hope not."

"He's been working outside all day, and I didn't want him to ruin any good clothes." Aunt Petunia said, sounding like she was frantically trying to figure out how to quickly get this woman out of her home before she could realize anything was wrong.

"Yep. I've been working in the sun on the garden, didn't want to end up with holes in a nice shirt." It always paid to put more effort into dodging the adults that showed up as visitors. The Dursleys would, well, not quite reward him so much as just... stop noticing him for a while. Although how much use that would be if the Dursleys were trying to have him shipped off to mental corrections or wherever was debatable.

"Well, I'm sure you'll do great at Herbology, then. Now there is the matter of getting you to Diagon Alley and gathering your school supplies, as well as making sure you can get to the platform on September first for the start of term." She reached into her dress and pulled out an envelope. "I've already given your Aunt the information she needs, so all that's left is for you to either come with me today or arrange something with your guardians."

Harry gingerly took the envelope, looking down at it and expecting to see some sort of doctor's orders to go to the hospital or something. He was rather surprised that it was, apparently, an actual letter (on parchment and sealed with wax, what the hell) for the supposed school of magic.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

There was also another piece of parchment with a bunch of different supplies on it, all of which seemed like some sort of massive prank. "Okay, this is a very funny joke, but you can stop pretending now. If Aunt Petunia wants to ship me off to mental corrections you can just come out and tell me." Harry watched as the expression on the professor's face tightened.

"Mr. Potter, I can assure you this is no joke." With that, she pulled out a stick (well, probably a wand, he guessed, if that list of supplies was correct) and pointed it at the meticulously maintained coffee table. A slight wave and suddenly instead of a table there was a pot-bellied pig that reminded Harry of his cousin. He glanced between the pig and the professor a couple of times before reaching out and patting the pig on the head. It huffed and pressed its snout against his palm., and Harry could feel the air moving.

"Um." Harry had no idea what to say. The woman was staring at him, and his Aunt was hyperventilating. All those times he had assumed that he was losing his mind, that there was no way what he saw was real. His teacher's hair, the glass at the zoo, that time he ended up on the school roof, the way he seemed to heal so much faster than any other kid, was that all magic? "But I can't be..." He thought it over for a moment. Sure, sometimes strange things happened around him. But if he was really a wizard, like this woman was saying, why hadn't he been able to stop the Dursleys from pushing him around? No, no, this didn't make any sense, what was going on, what was-

"I assure you, young man, you most certainly are. Have you not had any bouts of accidental magic?" Before Harry could respond, Aunt Petunia jumped in.

"Oh, he's had plenty of those freakish accidents alright. Ruining our lives, making scenes in front of his teachers, the neighbors, everyone!" Abruptly, he realized that none of this seemed to be a surprise to her.

"You knew." Absently, Harry noted that his voice had grown a bit cold. Everything was feeling detached and floaty and strange. "You knew what was happening and you- you- you tried to-" He cut off, still aware that he couldn't say more with someone else in the room. It was close, though, that detached sensation was making him feel like he should just say it.

"How could I not know, when my sister went and got married to some _wizard_ -" she spat the title like it was the one neighbor girl who had dropped out and ran off after getting pregnant at sixteen, "and got herself blown up after ripping apart my family!" Aunt Petunia was in hysterics by this point.

"Blown up? I thought you said they died in a car crash!" Harry was matching her in volume, and while he knew he was going to get beat for it later, that didn't matter to him as much as getting answers now. He wasn't quite as detached anymore, but everything still felt off. There was too much happening, too fast, all the events that had happened to him that he'd been punished for, all these years when he thought he probably did belong in a mental corrections facility, and-

"Mrs. Dursley! Mr. Potter!" They both turned to look at Professor McGonagall. "What, _exactly_ , is going on here?" Before Aunt Petunia could manage anything else, Harry started telling his point of view.

"They always told me that my parents were drunk layabouts who died in a car crash. All I can remember of the night is someone laughing, and then a flash of green." Harry was looking at his Aunt, hoping that his stare could burst someone into flames. That had to be a power wizards had, right? Well, it hadn't worked for him before, but now that he knew it was possible...

"I- I see." The professor's tone had gone from clipped but professional to something slightly dark with a hint of Scottish burr to it. "Mr. Potter, perhaps it's best if we went out to Diagon Alley without your Aunt." There was a slight pause as he stood up. "Get changed and meet me back in here." Harry stood up and stomped off towards his cupboard. "Mr. Potter, where are you going?"

"I'm getting changed." He ducked inside the cramped space and tried to pick out the best outfit.

"What are your clothes doing underneath the stairs?" Harry thought that maybe he should lie to her, say it was just where the washing machine was, but he was still, well, high or something from before. Either this was all real and maybe he'd be getting out of the Dursley's, or it wasn't and he was getting committed. Both cases ended up with him away from his Aunt and Uncle, so they wouldn't have the chance to punish him for whatever he said.

"This is my room." Harry still felt it was a bit of a risk to just say it, but he couldn't really think of any other way to actually make his point. Besides, he had always suspected that his Aunt and Uncle were lying about his parents, but to have it all but confirmed when an actual witch showed up to bring him to a magic school... This was probably the situation to say 'to hell with the consequences' and hope that a better life is coming around. And that floaty feeling still hadn't quite gone away, the one that was making it seem like the whole world was a bit out of sync, so maybe this was a dream anyway, if the other options weren't possible.

"I'm sorry, did you say that the space under your stairs was your bedroom?" She wasn't shouting, which Harry thought made the question all the more ominous. As he finished changing and ducked back out towards the sitting room, he saw that Aunt Petunia had gone white as a sheet.

"Well, yeah." He picked at one of the threads coming loose from the best shirt he had. "Freaks like me don't deserve a proper room, or so I've been told." This was apparently not the thing to say, as suddenly the lights in the room flickered and for just a moment Harry could have sworn there was something more, something dangerously like a lion suffusing the professor. It cut right through the floaty feeling of detachment while it lasted and he was a bit less sure that this was just a dream.

"Is. That. So." Professor McGonagall turned to look directly at Aunt Petunia, who promptly fainted dead away. "Rest assured, Mr. Potter, that you will not be coming back here tonight if I have to take you in myself. And perhaps I'll introduce your... guardians," Harry was impressed at how much sheer seeming hatred dripped off the word, "to a couple of fellow witches and wizards about how to properly care for a child." A quick wave of the probably a wand turned the pig back into a table, and Harry stepped out onto the street with Professor McGonagall. "Oh. Before we leave, was there anything you wanted to bring with you?"

Harry took a moment to think. Honestly, there wasn't much. Maybe one of the notebooks he'd doodled flowers in, but they weren't anything special and other than that, nothing came to mind. "I don't think so, professor."

She seemed quite a bit put out by that, before shaking her head and holding her wand in front of her. She seemed to swirl it before there was a small flourish and a red and gold beanie appeared out of nowhere. "Best for you to put this on, I think." Harry looked around, hoping that some of the neighbors would react to this, give him more of a chance to figure out if it was real, but as he glanced over the street it was as if they had all decided to look anywhere but Number 4. "Quickly now, the muggle repelling charm will wear off soon." He looked at the proffered hat before taking it and jamming it over his head. "Make sure you've got the scar covered up." She reached into a pocket and pulled out a- okay, this was just getting surreal. He had to be dreaming. She had an actual witch's hat? The same color as her dress? Actually, were those supposed to be robes? Harry was practically bursting with questions at this point, but long practice at the Dursleys had taught him to not ask any. "Be ready for a bang, Mr. Potter. The Knight Bus is rather loud." As she said that, she stuck the wand out over the street.

Even bracing himself, he wasn't quite prepared for the shock of a giant purple triple-decker bus popping into existence on the street in front of him, making a noise like a someone had just fired a gun. "Professor? Did that mailbox just jump out of the way?"

"Probably. Stick close to me, and unless you absolutely have to, don't tell anyone your name." She started walking up the stairs to the bus. "Two for the Leaky Cauldron."

"Right you are, Prof. That'll be four sickles." The conductor appeared to be a lanky man who was maybe just barely entering his twenties, wearing a uniform the same neon purple as the paint on the outside.

"Mr. Shunpike? Shouldn't you be getting ready for your NEWT year, young man?" Harry could hear the professor admonishing the conductor. He watched as she pulled a small pouch from the same pocket her hat had been in (how deep was that pocket, anyway) and started counting out silver looking coins.

"Ah, choo know me prof. I'm already set to pass 'em." He looked past her towards Harry. "And oo's this cheery young lad?"

"Just a muggleborn getting supplies, Mr. Shunpike. His guardians aren't able to make the trip with him." She turned back towards Harry, seeing that he still had yet to get on the bus. "Well, don't just stand there young man."

Harry hunched his shoulders and followed her towards the back of the bus. As he looked around the interior, he noticed that it was almost certainly larger on the inside. Finally, he couldn't hold back his questions. "Is this a magic bus? And is it safe? Also, where exactly is Diagon Alley anyway?" They arrived at a pair of what looked like overstuffed armchairs that had been loosely nailed to the floor.

"Sit down, and we'll get started. We shouldn't be there for a little while yet, so I'll be explaining some things to you during the ride." She pointed her wand at the chairs and a small beam of grey-ish blue light hit them. She sat down and Harry did as well, before he realized that it felt almost like he was sitting in maple syrup if he tried to stand back up or pull too far away from the seat. "Just a sticking charm. The Knight Bus is not the smoothest ride." As she said that, another bang heralded their departure and suddenly the whole bus was thrown from side to side, chairs sliding around to try and compensate for the motion. He was rather glad that she had made sure he wouldn't fall out of the seat.

After she had checked to make sure neither of them would tip off the chairs, she started speaking to him in a slightly sad tone. "Now, I'm not quite sure where to begin. I had hoped your wretch of an Aunt would at least tell you the truth about how your parents died, but since she hasn't, I suppose it falls to me." Harry leaned a bit closer. "When you were born, there was a sort of civil war going on in the magical community. And before you ask, yes, there's an entirely separate magical community. We separated off the muggles, those without magic, because of persecution and a desire to live free of their demands. The civil war started because a group of witches and wizards lead by, well, we call him either Death's Flight or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The actual name he had was-" She stopped for a bit, appearing to psyche herself up for a moment. "Voldemort. You shouldn't use the name, as there was a taboo on it that would instantly alert him to the location it was said in."

"What, so if anyone said Volde-" he cut off as she flinched. "Sorry, that name, he'd just come kill them or something?"

"Exactly that. Your parents were in a group formed to fight against him outside the standard governmental forces, as the ministry of magic was frequently hamstrung by insiders working for him. Since they didn't want to put you at risk, they went into hiding. Sadly, they were betrayed and what should have been a safe house was exposed to Death's Flight." She started dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. "He went to the house on Halloween night, 1981. Both your parents died trying to hold him off, but when he turned his wand to you, his curse, the killing curse, was reflected back at him. The killing curse is a truly foul piece of magic, one that cannot be blocked by any shield or survived through any known means. Somehow, though, you lived, and the house was blown apart from the force."

Harry could feel a slight wetness gathering in his eyes, trying with all his might to contain the tears. It wasn't safe to cry, boys didn't cry, and he couldn't break that now, not with someone watching. The detached feeling from before was fading and he was trying to hold onto it, trying to keep it to hold back the sudden overwhelming tide of emotions. He had always thought that his parents had gotten themselves killed doing something reckless, if not exactly drunk driving, but to know that they had died trying to save him... "But-" Harry paused to try and stop his voice from shuddering. "But how did I survive?"

"No one is quite certain. Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster at Hogwarts, is quite certain that your mother's love for you invoked an ancient piece of magic that could not be overcome by 'something so mundane as hate.' He's one of the most well-learned wizards on the planet, so his guess is the best we have." She waved her wand once more, and another handkerchief appeared in front of him. He grabbed it and began wiping his face free of the few tears that had slipped out. "Because you survived, though, you are something of a celebrity amongst magical Britain, and even further around the globe." Harry looked up at her, eyes going wide. "Yes, quite famous. That's why I've asked you to avoid using your name and cover up your scar while we're out."

"How am I famous, though? Wasn't my mother the one who did all the work?"

"Sadly for her, she was the daughter of two muggles, which caused her to be looked down upon by many members of society. Magical Britain has something of a problem with blood purism, where wizards and witches are convinced that the 'purer' one's blood is, the better. Purity, in this case, refers to having only magical parents. This was the primary cause of the war that took your parents. Your mother would be termed a muggleborn, and she married the pureblood scion House Potter. That would make you a halfblood." She looked around before giving him a serious look. "Understand, Mr. Potter, that blood status matters not one bit. Your mother was a brilliant, talented, and powerful witch who could hold her own against Death's Flight in a fair fight, and she rarely fought fairly."

Harry nodded, tears threatening to spill again as he heard more about his mother. "Are people likely to recognize me, though?" He tried to look at his reflection in the window. "I mean, I haven't been around magical people at all since then, right?" After all, no one had gotten him away from his Aunt and Uncle. No one had come to check on him. No one had sent him mail.

"You look almost exactly like your father, with your mother's eyes." She stared at him for a moment. "Aside from that, almost every child in Britain knows that you have a Sowilo rune as a scar."

"Sowilo?"

"The lightning bolt shape on your forehead." Harry pressed a hand to where the scar was underneath the beanie. "It's a curse scar, from where He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's spell was reflected." He moved his hand away quickly. "Our stop is coming up shortly, we'll be on a street called Charing Cross." Another loud bang sounded, and suddenly London was flying by as the bus appeared to hop between cars to get through traffic. "Stick close to me and make sure to keep that scar covered. If I have to use a name for you, I'll use Mr. Evans."

/-|-o-o|-\

The Leaky Cauldron, Harry decided, was both the most amazing place he'd ever been and also something of a dump. There wasn't any dust, somehow, but the well worn tables and floors seemed to say that this wasn't anyplace grand. Aunt Petunia would have thrown a fit if she saw it. The torches, actual torches, acting as lights didn't do anything to offset this.

As both he and Professor McGonagall started moving through the pub, the bartender called out. "Minnie! Good to see you again, thought you'd have been done with all the muggleborns by now."

"Not quite, Tom, we just had to work out a different date for young Mr. Evans here." She looked down at Harry, who was a bit distracted by a portrait hanging above a fireplace that seemed to be moving. "Mr. Evans, come along now."

Harry started a bit before realizing that she meant him and hurried to catch up with her across the room. As they walked through a door at the back of the pub, he could have sworn that the fire turned green and a head poked through it. They were in a dead end alleyway. "Uh, Professor?"

"Hush for a moment, lad." She pulled out her wand again and started tapping bricks, seemingly at random. "There we go. Evans was your mother's maiden name, if you were wondering." The bricks seems to melt in front of him and started peeling back to form an archway emblazoned with the words 'Diagon Alley' at the top. "Don't make me hold your hand, Mr. Evans."

Harry started following her only to stop dead in his tracks as he gazed out at the alley. It looked sort of like something out of a medieval film, people hawking wares on a cobble street with shops lining either side. There were signs of magic everywhere, with signs that moved on their own, sparks shooting out of various places, and what looked to be an animated stone gargoyle leering down at people from above a shop called 'Stone Sentinels.' His head kept turning around trying to take it all in before he heard a sigh and felt someone grab his hand. "Wha-"

"I warned you, Mr. Evans. Our first stop will be the bank." She started leading him towards a massive white marble building at the end of the street. "The bankers are goblins."

"Goblins?" Harry responded, barely keeping his feet moving as they went by shops with names like 'Quality Quidditch Supplies' and 'Artificer's Armory.'

"Short beings that are a bit bloodthirsty and greedy. Expect them to try and fleece you, but they won't be offended by haggling. They'd probably be more offended if you didn't." She was clearly trying to hurry them along, but he didn't want to miss out on any of the activity around him. "You'll have time to browse later, Mr. Evans. More if you hurry up now."

Harry nearly tripped over the steps as they got to the bank, too absorbed in the building itself to notice where he was being led. The jolt of almost falling brought him back to watching Professor McGonagall. "Am I going to have enough for all my school supplies? And tuition?" She'd said that he had money, but from what little he'd picked up on about how much Smeltings cost and the fact that the Dursleys were probably not going to pay for any of it, he doubted that he'd really have enough to make it all the way through school.

She stopped at the top of the steps and brought him off to the side, earning suspicious glances from the guards. Harry took a moment to look over at them and almost shouted in alarm when he saw that they were actually goblins. Well, probably, he didn't exactly know what a goblin was supposed to look like. Still, the professor had said that they were short and bloodthirsty, and the guards were a full head shorter than him with neatly trimmed beards, long fingers and feet, and each was hefting an ax that was taller than he was. They were quite imposing in their polished armor. "Mr. Evans, your father was scion of a noble family. Your or your mother's defeat of Death's Flight also ensured that your vaults would gain a hefty number of bounties from a variety of sources. There exist fictional story books about your adventures, of which the authors have sent fully half the profits directly into your coffers." She took a moment to think. "If I had to guess, you are probably within our island's top twenty wealthiest individuals."

Harry's jaw fell open. "I'm _rich!?_ " This was beyond anything he'd ever dreamed.

"Yes, you are quite well off." He was trying to absorb this information and failing. "Now, a quick overview of our monetary system. We use gold galleons, silver sickles, and bronze knuts. There are seventeen sickles to a galleon and twenty-nine knuts to a sickle. There are reasons behind this rate of exchange, but they're not that important or relevant unless you end up working for Gringotts. A galleon is worth around two-hundred and fifty pounds. A sickle is worth a little less than fifteen pounds, and a knut is worth just about half a pound." She looked him in the eye. "Understand, Mr. Evans, that this is not like the muggle world. While witches and wizards cannot make food out of nothing, we can duplicate existing food quite well. Expansion charms mean that we have more than enough space available, for much cheaper than otherwise. It is virtually impossible for a witch or wizard to starve or go homeless if they truly do not wish to. Everything else, however, is measurably more expensive than it would be in the muggle world, since we have no factories, no production lines, and no cheap disposable goods."

"Wait, even clothes?" Harry didn't know much about how clothes were made, but he knew that it involved factories and giant machines. "How does everyone get everything made then?"

She smiled softly at him. "Magic." He let out a huff. "We have plenty of artisans, and almost all magical goods will last a lifetime or several. And witches and wizards live longer than muggles, so that might mean a few hundred years for a robe." Harry's eyes went wide again, probably not for the last time that day. "I've had these robes for just over half a century, and they still fit and feel like I just bought them yesterday." He tried to process that before suddenly realizing that she had to be older than her early sixties if she'd had the robes for over fifty years. "Now, let's get inside the bank before the guards start poking us, hmm?"

They turned back towards the doors and Harry noticed a plaque with what seemed like a poem on it.

 _Enter, Stranger, but take heed_

 _Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

 _For those who take, but do not earn,_

 _Must pay most dearly in their turn,_

 _So if you seek beneath our floors_

 _A treasure that was never yours,_

 _Thief, you have been warned, beware_

 _Of finding more than treasure there._

"Yes, Mr. Evans, it is not wise to attempt to steal from the goblins. They take bank security most seriously." He had a bit of trouble keeping pace with her as they went in and he started staring at everything around him again. There were high counters with goblins in vests sitting behind them. Torches and chandeliers were the lighting here as well, and some form of lamps that looked electric on the tellers' counters. When he tried to look up at one there wasn't a bulb underneath the shade. The shade itself seemed to be giving off the light. Was there a reason for the seeming lack of electricity? The bus seemed to work fine. Well, maybe not that fine, but it wasn't like it was breaking down or anything. Before Harry could get too caught up in figuring it out, they stopped in front of an open counter. The professor leaned close to the goblin teller and started whispering, so Harry stood on tiptoes to listen better. "Mr. Potter is here to access his trust vault. In addition, he would like an accounting of his finances in total." Well, he hadn't actually told her that, but it was something he wanted, so.

"Does the client have his key?" The goblin said, with what looked to be a sneer. A sneer with a lot of teeth, actually, that was kind of disturbing. But maybe that was just how they looked? Harry took a quick glance around and it seemed like most of the tellers had similar expressions, so if it was something bad at least it wasn't like they were being singled out.

The professor reached into her pockets again (and how much space was actually in those, really) and pulled out a small golden key that looked sort of like it would open a big wooden door in some tower or castle. Maybe not that surprising, come to think of it. She handed the key over. "We would appreciate some discretion in these matters."

The goblin took the key and examined it for a moment before placing it on a mat, which glowed purple briefly. "Griphook will take you to the vault. An accounting will cost ten sickles. This will be deducted from the primary vault." Wait, a simple check of how much gold he had was going to cost him over a hundred pounds? Was that even fair?

"Ten sickles? We would count it ourselves or bring someone with us who would do it for five." Um. She had said something about haggling, but this didn't seem like the sort of thing you'd haggle over. It wasn't even a physical item!

"Seven sickles, and it will be certified." said the teller. Was Harry going to have to do something like that every time he came here? Worse, would it be like this everywhere?

"Fine." The professor grabbed his hand again, and led him towards the back of the lobby where there were a few doors that occasionally had goblins and other witches and wizards coming in and out.

"Professor?" Harry said. "Is it normally so expensive to have vaults counted?"

Professor McGonagall turned towards him. "Well, Mr. Evans, it's dependent upon the size of the vaults and how frequently it's done. Since your vaults haven't been touched in a decade, and they're quite large, the price would be higher. It also costs more the less accurately you record things with the goblins when you make deposits or withdrawals." She looked up as a goblin started heading towards them. "Griphook?"

"Follow me." The goblin turned around and walked back through the doors. Harry and the professor hurried after. "Keep all appendages inside the cart at all times."

They were in some sort of giant cavern, with what looked like old fashioned mine carts from American wild west television programs on haphazard rails. The group climbed in, and Harry was surprised to find that the cart could hold all of them comfortably. It must have been like the professor's pockets, he guessed. Just as he was about to ask about it, Griphook pulled a lever on the front and the cart took off down the rails. It was relatively smooth at first, until suddenly they were out of the twisting shafts that they had started in and had gone into what seemed like mid-air, a huge cave stretching below them with spindly wooden supports holding up the track. Stalactites and stalagmites flew by, and Harry was fairly certain that this was what a roller coaster felt like whenever the track dipped or turned sharply. After a few minutes he couldn't keep track of where they had been anymore. If he was being honest, the ride was kind of fun. Shortly, however, they came to a stop outside a massive vault door made out of what looked like iron built into an outcropping of rock.

"Watch your step." The goblin hopped out of the cart and onto the stone, while Harry and Professor McGonagall carefully climbed out. Griphook took out the key from before and pressed it against the door, which upon closer inspection did not actually have a keyhole. He muttered something too quietly for Harry to hear before running a finger in a circle at goblin height on the metal. A hole opened up and the key was put in and turned, with a creaking sound accompanying the door rolling out of the way. "The vault will be refilled to one-thousand galleons twice annually, on June thirty-first and December thirty-first. This will come from the main family vault. Any non-monetary objects that are stored here on those dates can be moved into the family vault for safe keeping."

Harry was barely paying attention to what Griphook was saying however, as he had just gotten a glimpse inside his vault. There was a decent sized pile of gleaming gold coins, more stacks of silver and a massive amount of bronze. "This is-" He managed to get out, suddenly lightheaded. "This is all mine?" It almost came out as a wheeze.

"Yes. Two hundred of the galleons are converted to sickles, and of the resultant thirty-four hundred sickles, a further half of those are converted into forty-nine thousand three hundred knuts." Harry abruptly sat down on the floor, eyes roving over the money. "If you require a money pouch, for three galleons we provide a mokeskin bag with space for ten-thousand coins in it."

"Three galleons?" He quickly did some math in his head. That'd be three times two-hundred and fifty, if he remembered the professor correctly. Seven-hundred and fifty pounds for a bag! Well, a magic bag of holding, but still. That was just too much, it had to be- wait, haggling, right. Right. She'd told him they expected it. "I'm, I'm sure that such a bag wouldn't go for more than-" he glanced over at the professor. "Two galleons." She gave him a slight smile.

Griphook grinned, teeth visible. It wasn't pretty, but it also didn't seem hostile. Almost like the goblin enjoyed haggling. "Two galleons and ten sickles, and we'll enchant it to only open to you."

Well, that was a good chunk off the price. Still, though, even if he had money now there was no reason to start wasting it. "Two galleons, five sickles. That's with the enchantment and-" he paused, trying to think of something that he could add in. "Can it be linked to the vault?" It seemed like something that'd be useful, after all. No need to keep running back to the bank when he got low.

If anything, that just made Griphook's grin wider. "It can be done, but that will raise the cost to two galleons, fifteen sickles."

"Two galleons, twelve sickles." Harry had no idea if this was a fair price, but he found that he did enjoy the back and forth.

"Done." Griphook pulled a small dark purple pouch out from the cart. "To key it to you, we'll need to place a drop of your blood on the drawstrings." Harry stood up and walked over to the goblin. "Hold out your hand, please." Harry did as asked, and before he could blink a dagger had made a small incision on his thumb, which Griphook then squeezed a drop of blood out of onto the strings. As Harry watched, a slight red glow suffused them, before fading out and leaving the strings in their natural gold color. He pulled his hand back and went to wipe his thumb on his shirt before realizing that the cut had already healed. Griphook then took the pouch and pressed the key against it, before whispering something at it. The pouch and key both glowed a soft silver, before going back to their original colors. "To access the money in the pouch, simply think of how much you wish to withdraw and in which coins you would like it to be, and the coins will appear in your hand."

Harry put his hand in the pouch and thought of the agreed upon two galleons and twelve sickles, waiting for just a moment before he felt a weight settle into his palm. As that happened, he noticed a few coins in the vault disappear. "Here you go."

Griphook looked over the coins for a few seconds before putting them in his pocket. "A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Potter."

/-|-o-o|-\

As Harry and Professor McGonagall were walking out of the bank, Harry stared at the piece of parchment in his hand. She'd been given it when they got back to the lobby, and she turned it over to him with a compliment on the haggling. There was some sort of legalese at the top and an interesting looking seal on the bottom, but all he could focus on were the numbers on the page. His trust vault now had 798 Galleons, 1688 Sickles, and 49300 knuts. There was enough money left in the vault to get him a small house somewhere. But that paled in comparison to the amounts listed for the family vault that he'd get access to when he came of age. 93092 Galleons, 365483 Sickles, and 1984234 Knuts. After doing a little bit of mental math, he came to the conclusion that he was a millionaire. Harry was still feeling lightheaded from the knowledge when he felt a hand on his back guiding him into a shop that had a sign with 'Madam Malkin's' on top, an animated display of various robes in the middle and a short blurb underneath that said 'Robes for All Occasions.'

"Quickly now, Mr. Evans. You'll need to be fitted and it'll be a bit of a wait before you can pick up the robes themselves." Harry shoved the parchment with the nice large numbers on it into his pocket opposite the one with the pouch (as he didn't want to risk trying to put it in the pouch), before pulling out the letter with his school supply list on it. "If you want, you can probably find some more muggle-friendly clothes as well." She sighed. "I'd offer to take you out into the muggle world after we were done here, but with you needing to be removed from those relatives of yours, we'll be spending quite a bit of time getting you accommodated for the rest of the summer."

"Will the store have regular clothes?" Harry asked, as he glanced around at the racks. He didn't see anything other than robes at the front, and the store hadn't seemed that big from the alley. As they continued walking, though, he realized that it was a good deal larger inside the building than it was outside. Were all magical buildings like this?

"Yes, although they might be a tad dated." They approached a counter with a small bell on it, and a woman wearing deep blue robes came out from behind a curtain. "We're here to get this young man fitted for Hogwarts, as well as a bit of muggle clothes shopping as well."

The saleslady looked at Harry. He knew he wasn't dressed that great, and the scrutiny wasn't helping. He was starting to squirm a bit when she finally responded. "I'll get Madam Malkin, just head over to the fitting stands." She pointed towards a few raised platforms at the back of the store, with curtains able to be drawn around them. As Harry made his way over, he heard the saleslady talking to the professor. "What sort of budget are you working with for him?"

"Assume that he can spend at least fifty galleons." Harry was unsure if he wanted to spend that much on clothes. It wasn't like the clothes could actually help, really. He just kind of hated his body, he guessed. He knew he was scrawny, and honestly he was more than happy to hide everything underneath the over-sized castoffs. He stepped up onto the platform in stall three, even though the other stalls were unoccupied. It seemed like the store was mostly empty today. It was only a short wait before a squat witch dressed in mauve appeared.

"Hogwarts, dearie?" She said, as she took out a tape measure. "Hold up your arms." Harry lifted his arms and watched as she brought the tape against one arm before letting go, where it started to move on its own. "Don't worry, this will only take a few minutes." She headed off to the side and he was left staring out at the store as the tape darted and wrapped around his body.

There looked to be a wide selection of robes, with what seemed like a few muggle items off to the sides. The section labeled 'Wizards' was fairly straightforward, the robes in neutral colors and only a few different cuts from what he could tell. He tried to figure out which would hide his shape the best, studying them and pointedly not looking at the rest of the store. It only took him a minute, though, before he started sneaking glances over at the section labeled 'Witches.' He couldn't tell if any of those were actually fashionable, since he was barely conversant in muggle styles, much less magical ones. But there were a lot more cuts and vibrant colors in that area, and- No. No no no. He shut down his train of thought, trying hard to avoid the idea that maybe, just maybe, he'd rather wear witch's robes than wizard's. Harry might be magical, but he seriously doubted that any sort of that thing would be tolerated. His uncle hadn't been the only one to yell at him over thoughts like that.

He desperately searched for a distraction, finding it in a part of the store that looked to be for Hogwarts' students. The robes were solid black, and there looked to be a set hat to go with them. Underneath a display case with four different colored ties (Red and Gold, Blue and Bronze, Black and Yellow, and Green and Silver) there was a rack with white ties that had a small sign saying 'Automatically changes to fit your house!' Harry wasn't entirely certain what that meant, but he guessed it had something to do with the colors. Could magic clothes change colors? That seemed like it would be neat, he guessed. There was also a rack with grey cotton vests on it, which seemed to match with a standard white dress shirt. As he swept his eyes over the section, they got caught on the skirts for the girl's uniform. Again he averted his eyes, deciding instead to just sit there and not look at anything until Madam Malkin got back.

It was another five minutes of waiting before the squat witch reappeared, carrying a black bundle of fabric. "Now, I'll need you to hold still for this part. It'll be over quickly, just don't flinch or the pins might nick you."

"Um, what does that-" The fabric was tossed over his head, unfurling into a robe. As he watched, a small swarm of clothing pins flew out of a tin in Madam Malkin's hand, darting about him and bringing the robe in against him.

"Don't worry dear, they're perfectly safe. Charmed against breaking skin. Still stings a bit, so I recommend just staying still and letting them work." The pins continued to circle him, letting the robe out more towards the bottom while still keeping the hem just high enough to walk in. It wasn't that hard not to flinch, Harry had long since learned how to stay composed when things were flying at him. 'Two for flinching' was a fairly common game with Dudley. "Alright, I think you're all set! How do they look?"

He turned to the mirror in the stall, fighting down the usual bit of revulsion at seeing his reflection. "They're great, thanks." He honestly had no idea if they looked good or not, but they fit and he could move about freely in them. The robe would probably be the best article of clothing he owned.

"Oh, you're welcome. Now, you wanted to see some of the muggle clothes as well?" She asked, as she helped him get the robe back off.

"Yeah." Well, no, not really, but if he was rich and already here, not much point avoiding it.

"Right this way then." She walked towards the side of the store with mostly wizards' robes and kept going towards the wall. "Here you are! If you see something you like, don't worry too much about the size. We can resize it for you while we do your robes." Madam Malkin promptly disappeared behind several racks of muggle coats, most of which were in bizarre colors that looked like they belonged in the sixties.

/-|-o-o|-\

It was three hours later that Harry and Professor McGonagall started heading towards the wand shop. Harry had picked up a decent selection of muggle clothing and a few non-uniform robes, and had worn a new outfit out the door of Madam Malkins. The professor had then burned the old clothes in a side alley, before making the remains disappear. He thought it might have been a bit much, but he was a little happier knowing that the clothes he had on were just for him. After Madam Malkins, they had picked up a trunk (with three separate compartments, one for clothes, one for books, and one for everything else) and were using it to store the rest of the purchases. It had an auto-shrink feature, making it much easier to carry around than a bunch of bags. They only had a wand, the books, and maybe a familiar left to get.

"After we pick up your wand, we'll get some lunch and then go to the book store." Professor McGonagall said as they walked down the alley. Harry had wanted to save the book store for last, since there wouldn't be any worries about how long he looked around for. The library had been a frequent refuge from Dudley and his gang, since they were loud and mostly illiterate.

"Lunch?" Harry said. He was still occasionally getting lost in the sights of the alley, but he wasn't doing so bad that the professor needed to keep holding his hand. "Where are we going to go for that?"

"We'll be stopping by a small cafe near the ice cream parlour. If you feel up to it and behave yourself, we'll get some ice cream afterwards." The professor sounded stern, but there was an undercurrent of softness to it.

"Is it magic ice cream?" he asked, getting more comfortable with Professor McGonagall as the day wore on.

"There's a few kinds that are magical, yes, but I wouldn't recommend them. They have a habit of getting messy." What did that mean? Would it leap off the spoon or something? "In any case, Mr. Evans, we're here now." She glanced down at him. "A word of warning: Mr. Ollivander will probably try and surprise you, and don't be alarmed if he knows your name without even glancing at you."

Harry focused on the shop in front of them, and wasn't all that impressed. It was narrow (although that wasn't a real indication of size, he supposed) and shabby, the gold lettering over the door that said 'Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.' peeling. Then again, if the shop had been in business that long, maybe it was supposed to look a little worn down. Peering through the window, Harry was able to catch a glimpse of a single wand lying on a purple cushion behind a thin layer of dust. They entered the shop and a small bell rang somewhere deeper within. Inside the shop didn't appear much better than the outside, a tiny empty space with a single spindly chair the only furniture that wasn't a shelf loaded with thousands of narrow boxes. There was an odd tingly sensation in the air, and Harry could almost taste ozone if he was focusing on it. The whole place seemed to whisper just below his hearing, and while he couldn't make out any words he got the distinct impression that there was magic completely suffusing the place.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. I had wondered when I would be seeing you." Harry jumped at turned around, seeing an old man standing behind him with wide pale eyes. "Yes, yes. You have your mother's eyes, you know. I could have sworn she was just by yesterday, picking out her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches, swishy, willow. Practically made for charms work." Harry kept his eyes on the man, who could only be Mr. Ollivander, as he walked towards the shelves of wands. "Mmm. But your father, he preferred an eleven inch, mahogany wand. Peryton Antler core, most unique. Pliable, good power and a quick learner for transfiguration. Well, I say he preferred it, but it's rather the other way around. It's the wand that chooses the wizard, you see."

Harry took a step back. "The wand... chooses the wizard?"

"Yes, very much so. They aren't sentient, not truly, but enough to refuse to work for some people and give their best for others." Mr. Ollivander leaned closer to him. "And, if I may be so bold-" He gestured towards the red and gold beanie on Harry's head (which had since learned were the house colors for Gryffindor, whatever that was). Harry pulled back the beanie, and Mr. Ollivander traced the scar. "And that's where..." There was a pause, as they both pulled away from each other. "I'm most sorry to say that I was the one who provided the wand that did it." There was a softness to the man's voice, and Harry wasn't sure if he should say anything or not. "Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. A powerful wand, and one of my finest. But if I'd known what it was going out into the world to do-"

He was interrupted by the professor clearing her throat. "That's very well, Mr. Ollivander, but we're here for Mr. Potter's wand, I believe."

"Quite right, Professor McGonagall. Quite right. No troubles from your wand, though?" Ollivander asked, seeming to already know the answer.

"None whatsoever."

"Well, let's get started with Mr. Potter then, shall we?" He took a measuring tape with silver markings out of his pocket, one that seemed similar to the one in Madam Malkins. "Which arm is your wand arm, young man?"

"Well, I'm right handed, if that's what you're asking." said Harry.

"Alright, hold out your arm and stand still." For the first few measurements, Ollivander was holding onto the tape, looking carefully at each number, but as he continued speaking, the tape measure seemed to get a mind of its own. "Every one of my wands has a powerful core, Mr. Potter. A dragon heartstring, a phoenix feather, or a unicorn hair, and some others beside. They all have different temperaments, but there's no way to say any is better or worse than the others." Ollivander started pulling boxes off the shelves, the tape measure still flitting about. "That will do." Suddenly the tape fell in a heap on the floor. "Now, just pick up a wand, and let me know what you feel."

A couple dozen wands later, and Harry was starting to wonder if he would ever find his. Half the time the wandmaker would snatch a wand out of his hands before he'd even gotten a good grip on it, and on a few rare occasions there were bangs and odd happenings around the shop. While Harry was getting more annoyed, Mr. Ollivander seemed to be getting progressively happier.

"Tricky fellow, aren't you, Mr. Potter? No matter, I'll find the wand for you, don't you worry." He walked further back in the shop, ducking behind multiple shelves until he was out of sight and just barely in hearing range. "I wonder- well, why not." He came back with a box containing a beautifully crafted wand, one that Harry could practically hear calling to him. "Holly and phoenix feather, not a common combination, eleven inches, quite supple. Give her a wave."

As Harry picked up the wand and waved it, he felt something warm in his hand that spread up his whole arm. Just as he saw sparks come out the end of it, though, he felt something off. It was as if the wand had looked at him and found him wanting? But it was willing to wait for him, also. Harry wasn't entirely certain how he knew it, but he could tell that he was right.

"Mmm. That's the wand for you, I'm quite certain of it, but you'll need to be more confident before it gives itself fully to you. When you can stand before the world and tell them without a doubt who you really are, I suspect that's when the wand will be in tune with you." Harry looked down at the wand, which was still giving him a warm feeling. It wasn't quite perfect, but it could get there. "Curious, though."

"What's curious?" Harry almost immediately regretted asking. He knew by the expression on the Ollivander's face that he didn't want to know.

"I remember every wand I've sold, Mr. Potter." Wait, how many was that? How old was he anyway? "Every one. The phoenix that gave the feather for your wand has only given me a feather once before." A sudden churning picked up in Harry's stomach as the earlier discussion in the shop came to mind. "It is odd indeed that you should be chosen by this one, when the brother to it gave you your scar." Harry looked down at his wand again. What had he gotten himself into?

/-|-o-o|-\

AN: Minnie might be a bit biased in terms of "it's practically impossible for someone to go homeless," since it can and does actually happen, but it is rarer than the muggle world by a substantial amount.

Harry is reasonably wealthy, but "never have to work again" wealthy instead of "buy an island and a private jet" wealthy.

No Draco? The current timeframe is July 15th or so, with the muggleborn orientation trip having occurred on the 7th. That date is specifically chosen because it's 7/7, and magic number 7 whatnot.

There's a bunch more wandcores, but Ollivander is primarily noted for Dragon/Unicorn/Phoenix wands, since those are the ones he makes most frequently.

A peryton is a winged deer that supposedly came from Atlantis.


	3. Chapter 3

A spot of lunch and some (sadly non-magical) ice cream later, and Harry was browsing the bookstore while Professor McGonagall waited outside. She'd said that it would probably be better to go through Flourish and Blotts before picking a familiar, which meant that he couldn't take forever looking through the shop, but there was still at least an hour or two before they had to move on. Or there had been—he'd gotten a bit distracted flipping through a book about jinxes that was just too interesting to put down. Harry decided that he could probably splurge a bit here, and dropped the book into a basket that the shop provided to customers that was spelled to be seemingly bottomless. He'd long since picked up all his school books, as well as a few guides to the magical world that seemed to be aimed at Muggle-born kids (and two that were aimed at their parents, just in case). Walking towards the fiction section with his focus entirely on the shelves, he failed to notice the other person doing the same, but starting from the opposite end of the section. They smacked into each other ,Harry turning just in time to see a girl with bushy brown hair fall down clutching her head.

"Sorry! I wasn't paying attention to where I was going." He reached down to help her up, somewhat glad to see that she was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. She probably wasn't one of the purebloods that the professor had warned him about. "Are you okay?"

She let herself be pulled to her feet as she responded. "No, that was all my fault! Really, I've been told before to watch where I'm walking and that I should stop walking if I'm going to look at the books, but I just found out about magic and the whole thing is just so interesting. I'm trying to find common fairy tales to match with muggle versions and see what magical fiction is like as a whole. There doesn't seem to be quite as much variety, but that might be because the population is smaller..." She trailed off, looking up at Harry. "Sorry! I started rambling. My name is Hermione Granger."

He looked back at her, slightly overwhelmed. "Uh. Harry. Potter." Wait, was he supposed to say Evans there? The small gasp coming from Hermione seemed to indicate a yes.

"Are you really? There's a book series about you here in the fiction section! And I saw your name in a few of the history texts, for taking down He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, whoever that is, but there's basically nothing about how that was actually accomplished, and you were only a year old at the time so I can't even ask you?" It was phrased as a question, clearly she hoped that he actually did have the ability to answer any inquiries she was going to make.

"Yes, that's apparently me, but I didn't know any of that until today." Hermione's eyes grew wide at that statement, and she seemed to deflate a bit at the realization that Harry might be more lost than her. "I was brought up by my muggle relatives, so I can't tell you much about the magical world. But the professor who brought me here said that Dumbledore guessed that it was my mother who actually beat him by giving me some sort of protection with her love."

"But how would that even work? There have to have been thousands of people who died trying to get loved ones enough time to get away that didn't actually manage to, so there must have been something else to it. Do you think there's a ritual or ward or-" She cut herself off, noticing Harry seemed to grow more and more confused with each theory.

"I haven't even had a chance to look through all my textbooks yet, Hermione." Harry shuffled his feet. "I… don't usually do that well in school anyway."

"Oh? I can help with that! We can study together, and I can help you with your homework, even if we aren't in the same house!" Hermione seemed to be getting entirely too enthusiastic about helping him. "Do you know whether you're a verbal or visual learner?"

"Um, I have no idea?" Harry watched as she seemed to think for a bit, before muttering "It doesn't really matter, anyway, I'm not supposed to do better than my cousin."

"You're not supposed to do better than your cousin?" Her eyes narrowed, and he suddenly felt his throat go dry. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Uh..." Shite, how was he supposed to get out of this? His first chance to talk to someone without Dudley there to mess it up and he was messing it up all by himself.

"Because I skipped a year and the older kids kept saying that I shouldn't be doing better than them." Hermione was frowning at him now, great. At least he didn't have to come up with an excuse to explain his last comment. McGonagall finding out about everything wasn't great, per se, but at least she didn't seem to be pitying him and had (at least temporarily, though he hoped for longer) gotten him out of the situation. "You can't let others hold you back, you know. I'm sure you're more than capable of doing well if you just try." She paused for a moment. "Is your cousin going to Hogwarts too?"

"No. I don't think my aunt and uncle would have let him—even if he had magic." That was a funny thought, though. Dudley trying to do magic. He'd probably just spend all day making food appear.

"They wouldn't let him?" Her frown deepened. "What does that mean?"

Ah, he really needed to stop saying things. "My relatives didn't really like magic? We weren't supposed to talk about it and my cousin wasn't allowed to watch any programs on the telly about it." There, she couldn't make anything out of that, could she?

"Hmm. Well, in any case, if your cousin isn't going to be at Hogwarts, you don't have to worry about doing better than him, right?" Harry opened his mouth to respond, but froze as he realized that she was probably right, even if he didn't end up getting away from the Dursleys. If he had to stay with them, it was only going to be for two and a half months out of the year. "On top of that, the grading system for magicals is completely different to ours. O is the best grade and an A is just barely above failing, so if you tried to just do the bare minimum your grades would just be a solid block of A's."

"What? Why?" That grading system wasn't even beginning to make any sense.

"Ah, the O stands for Outstanding and A stands for Acceptable. Between those two there's EE, for Exceeds Expectations, and the failing grades are P for Poor, D for Dreadful, and T for Troll." Hermione paused to take a breath. "I think it's a poor grading system, honestly, but it still mostly matches to ours, so I can't complain too much." She turned to look at the shelves. "Really, though, how can they expect anyone to try harder if they're being compared to a troll?"

"Maybe they'll take it as a sign that they should go into toll collection?" Harry replied.

Hermione let out a short giggle. "Oh, yes, clearly. Still, since you don't have to worry about your cousin?"

"Yeah, I guess I can try and do better." He shuffled his feet and looked down at the basket he'd left on the floor. "What did you mean by 'in the same house,' though?" He'd thought the professor had mentioned something about that, but he'd been a bit distracted at the time by a shop window with animated figurines fighting in it.

"Oh, there's four different houses at Hogwarts. They're like dormitory buildings, sort of? Except they're all still in the castle, just that each house has their own common area with their dorms attached to them, which is where you need to be after curfew. And you have classes with your house and one other, usually. And there's some sort of yearly competition, each house trying to earn the most points. There are Quidditch teams for each of the houses too, but I'm still not entirely certain on what Quidditch is beyond a sport." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "I'm sure there's a book on it in here somewhere."

Seeing an opportunity to turn the discussion away from himself, Harry responded. "I could help you look. I think I saw a section for it back near the front?"

"Oh, would you? That'd be great!"

/-|-o-o|-\

Another hour later, and Harry was brought out of his ongoing discussion with Hermione over the merits of a sport played in midair when a slightly miffed looking Professor McGonagall cleared her throat behind him.

"Mr. Evans, if you'd like to pick out a familiar today, we'll need to be going." He turned to look at her and saw the professor looking past him at Hermione. "It's nice to see you again, Miss Granger, if a bit surprising to see you again this soon."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Hermione mouth 'Evans?' at him before she replied to Professor McGonagall. "Well, I didn't need anything else, you did an excellent job of getting us all through the alley, but I wanted to see if there were any more books that I might want to read before I got to Hogwarts. I could get through most of the coursebooks without any trouble, however, there were a few things mentioned in the history textbook that I didn't have a reference for."

At this, the professor pointedly looked at the books piled about them, all of them involving the history and rules of Quidditch, with some referencing broom manufacturers. "Indeed. Be that as it may, I have to finish escorting Mr. Evans here, and I'm sure you'll both see each other on the express."

Harry looked around for a moment, before Hermione moved a pile of books to reveal his basket of as-yet unpurchased books. "Ah, right. I'll just go pay for these then..." He trailed off, looking at the girl he had seemingly just met.

"If you don't mind, I can pay for those for you while you finish up with Ms. Granger." Professor McGonagall said.

"Thanks!" Harry handed over a decent chunk of money from his pouch and watched the professor walk towards the counter before turning back to Hermione. "Sorry, guess I just lost track of time." He noticed that she had her eyes narrowed at him.

"Not at all, _Mr. Evans_." She said, drawing out the name.

Erk. Well, he can't say he hadn't expected that to come back to bite him. "Ah, yeah, the professor wanted me to use my mother's maiden name while we out on the alley. Mr. Ollivander saw right through it, though."

Her expression lightened, and she seemed mollified with the answer. "Is that why you've got that beanie on, then?" At his answering nod, she continued. "Sorry for assuming, just I've had kids lie to me about that sort of thing before you know, 'Oh look it's one of your favorite authors' and the like." She shuffled through a small bag she had on her (a small purse, maybe, Harry hadn't noticed it before, since it was shaped sort of like a book) and pulled out a notepad and a biro. "I thought we could maybe exchange phone numbers?"

Harry grimaced. He wasn't supposed to tell anyone the Dursleys' phone number (Aunt Petunia had locked him in the cupboard for a week the last time he had done that), and since the professor was hopefully taking him away from them it probably wouldn't even matter. "Ah, I'm not really supposed to give out-" He saw her starting to frown, and quickly changed tack. "But I'm getting a familiar next, and even if I don't get an owl, I'll still try and write you if I get your address?"

"Oh." She looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding. "Alright, then, but you might need to tell it to wait for a reply. I wanted a familiar, but my parents are allergic to cats and didn't really think an owl was appropriate to have in a muggle neighborhood." She wrote out her address on the pad, before tearing off the sheet and handing it to Harry who quickly pocketed it. "And if I don't hear from you before term, you can expect me to be searching for you on the train!"

Harry gave a short laugh at that as the professor came walking back over with a bit of change in her hand, watching as Hermione stood hesitantly for a bit before diving back into the books on Quidditch.

/-|-o-o|-\

The first thing that Harry noticed about Eeylops Owl Emporium was the fact that it was remarkably stink-free, despite the sheer number of birds in the shop. A sign on one of the few displays in the store said that all cages and perches sold in the shop had vanishing charms applied to the bottom, guaranteed to last for at least ten years. The shop didn't have anything to take care of the noise that all the birds made, however, which was slightly distracting. As he moved to go further into the shop, he noticed Professor McGonagall looking slightly apprehensive.

"Is there something wrong, professor?" Harry asked, stopping to the side of the doors to let a beleaguered witch pass through with three cages, each with an owl in them.

"It's nothing, Mr. Evans. I just tend to not get along with some owls." She moved to take him into the shop. "As an animagus, it happens sometimes."

"A what?" He briefly stopped as they moved down an aisle, glancing up at the owls flying about the ceiling. Sure enough, some of them seemed to be glaring at the professor.

"An animagus. It means that I can turn into an animal at will." Harry's mouth dropped open. "A cat, to be precise, which is why some of the owls are so put out with me."

"You can turn into a cat?" His excitement was nearly palpable. "Can you teach me how to do that? I'd love to be able to turn into a cat!" He paused for a moment, thinking it over in his head before turning back to Professor McGonagall. "Or a snake, since I can already talk to them."

The professor started badly and turned pale, peering closer at him. "You can talk to snakes, Mr. Evans?" She whispered.

"Well, yeah? They're not great conversationalists, to be honest. They mostly just care about food, sun, and 'clutches,' whatever those are." Harry thought it over for a moment. "Oh, and they all have strange names, like _She-Who-Slithers-On-Cloudy-Paths_."

If anything, that made the professor seem even fainter. "Don't speak parseltongue in public!" She sounded almost panicked.

"What? I didn't! I was talking in English the whole time!" Harry protested. "Hey!" Professor McGonagall had grabbed his arm and was dragging them deeper into the shop, almost entirely to the back.

"When you tried to say whatever that name was, you spoke in parseltongue." She said, in a furious whisper. "Parseltongue being the language of snakes, with speakers of it being known as Parselmouths." He wanted to interrupt with questions, but before he could start asking the professor continued talking. "It's an extraordinarily rare ability, and the most recently known wizard who had it was Death's Flight." Harry was starting to match the professor's paleness. "It would not do to draw attention to the fact that you can speak it, Mr. Evans." He nodded mutely, afraid that if he tried to speak again he'd accidentally start speaking parseltongue instead. Professor McGonagall let out a sigh, and reached out to grasp his shoulder before pulling her hand back when he flinched. "It's not dark by itself. Just… try to be careful about who you tell of it, alright?"

"Yes, Professor." He said, staring at the ground rather than meeting the professor's eyes.

/-|-o-o|-\

An hour later, Harry was waiting in a room in Hogwarts, having been led through a fire by the professor directly into the castle. Professor McGonagall had told him that it was a guest room, and would probably be where he'd be staying for the next few days. His trunk was at the foot of the bed, propped open on the library compartment with books haphazardly spilling out in a poor first attempt at organizing them. The room itself wasn't too large, having only the four-poster bed, a desk, a wardrobe, and a bookshelf. The color scheme was a neutral light blue and brown, not close enough to Ravenclaw colors to make it overly house-biased compared to some of the decorations he'd seen coming in through the great hall. There was an attached bathroom with a full bath, however, which was a luxury Harry had never had before that he was eager to try out.

"It just seems too good, though, girl." He said, glancing over towards his recently acquired companion from where he was lying down on the bed. After the terrifying chat with the professor in the owl shop, they'd managed to come across a beautiful snowy owl that Harry instantly attached to. He'd taken the time to go through some of his textbooks before picking out the name Hedwig for her, and she seemed pleased with his decision. "I don't think I've ever slept in a bed this soft before."

"Hooo." Hedwig looked at him from her perch, and he could sense a feeling of… comforting, coming from her?

"Uh, thanks." Was there some sort of guide for half-talking to animals? It wasn't the same as talking to snakes, obviously, since there weren't any words, but it still seemed like she was actually communicating with him.

"Hooo." And now a feeling of contentment. Harry could tell it wasn't exactly his contentment, either.

"I don't suppose you have any idea how I should organize the books?" He said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of his trunk. She tilted her head, and Harry felt confusion coming across the link between them. "I didn't think so." Pushing himself up off the bed, he looked over at the desk, a few sheets of parchment and some quills waiting to be used on it. He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out the piece of paper with Hermione's address on it. Was it too soon to be writing her? For that matter, how did owls know where to find people anyway? "Hedwig?" Harry called over.

There was a rush of feathers and suddenly she was perched on Harry's shoulder, peering down at the piece of paper in his hand. "Hooo." Now it was a feeling of 'yes I can find this place.' Sort of like… knowing where your car was parked when you left the grocers', if he had to describe it.

"I'm going to write a letter to Hermione, girl. You might need to wait for a response from her, she doesn't have an owl of her own." Harry got back a feeling that seemed to mean 'yes,' and he sat down at the desk and began writing to her.

/-|-o-o|-\

Minerva smoothed down her robes as she walked towards the headmaster's office. She had managed to find a suitable guest room for Mr. Potter, somewhat saddened by the fact that it seemed he and Ms. Granger were going to end up in Ravenclaw. At least the boy had made a friend, something he was in sore need of based on what she had seen earlier that morning. As she stepped in front of the gargoyle that led to Dumbledore's office, she paused a moment to collect herself before giving the password. A minute later and she was standing in front of the desk, still piled with paperwork, that Dumbledore was sitting behind.

"Ah, Minerva. I trust young Harry has gotten his school supplies?" He asked, without looking up from the report he was currently engrossed in, his robes still as infuriatingly bright as they were when she met him this morning.

"Yes, Headmaster, he's gotten all his school supplies." She paused for a moment, before continuing. "And he's currently in one of our guest rooms."

Dumbledore looked up at her, a slight frown appearing as he took in her expression and the coolness of her tone. "Minerva, why is Harry here? You know we can't keep him in the castle over the summer, not without authorization from the board." He spent a moment searching her face for some clue of what might have happened. "There weren't any problems at the alley, were there?"

It took a supreme effort for Minerva to contain her temper, the urge to yell at the man in front of her growing every minute. "No, Dumbledore, there weren't any problems at the alley."

"Then what-"

"There was, however, an issue before that. Did you know, Dumbledore?" She could feel the slight edge to her voice, but was too far gone to start caring. "Did you know that they didn't even clothe him properly?"

"His relat-" was as far as Dumbledore got before she cut him off.

"Oh, yes, his relatives. They made him perform all the manual labour around the house, starved him, refused to even give him room beyond the CLEANING CUPBOARD UNDERNEATH THE STAIRS!" Minerva looked at the speechless expression on the headmaster's face, and kept going. "I've seen house elves treated with more respect than Harry, and who've had to do less work. If I have to take the child in myself this summer, I'll gladly do so. But we have at least a week before the board needs to be notified, and I'll be damned before I allow you to place him back with those people." There was a palpable aura of anger starting to emanate from Dumbledore now. "I'm more surprised we don't have another obscurial on our hands, given that from what little I managed to get Harry to talk about today they tried on multiple occasions to literally BEAT THE MAGIC OUT OF HIM!"

Dumbledore held up his hands, stopping the rant. "He will not be going back to that house." The sheer force of his statement sent Minerva rocking back, laced with magic from the intent behind it. "Now, as you have said, we have a week to find an alternative to taking this up with the board. Do you have any suggestions beyond the offering of your own home?"

"Unless we wanted to relocate Mrs. Figg, I don't know that there's anyone we could trust to keep this quiet from our usual circles." She took a moment to think, staring at the portraits, most of which were trying to feign sleep while still attentively listening in. "He did meet Ms. Granger this afternoon, and they seemed to be getting along, but I'm not sure if the Grangers would be looking to take in another child, even for just a few months out of the year."

Dumbledore steepled his fingers. "They might not be, but given that it would only be for the summer months, maybe the holidays if they get along, they might be willing." He let out a sigh. "And I do seem to recall you mentioning that young Miss Granger was somewhat isolated from her peers, which would make having a friend stay over more enticing."

"Yes, but there's quite a difference between having a sleepover and inviting a random boy into your house for the next seven summers!" Minerva responded. "I'll send them a letter, if nothing else we could probably get a few extra days if they're willing to host him that long, but we should still keep searching."

"I quite agree." He pulled a pocket watch out of his robes, briefly checking the time before clicking it shut and standing up. "Now, though, I think we should get some dinner and discuss things with Harry."

/-|-o-o|-\

AN: So, first off, sorry this took so long but real life hates me! Also if you for some unknowable reason like what I'm writing, I've got a kofi page set up (it's just /slynnwen)

[McG knowing way more about Harry's life than was shown] - She's an educator with decades of experience, and there were long stretches of time in the alley not shown. She got more of the story out of Harry then.

[Why the snitch is important] - I'm going to try and unfuck Quidditch, even if I never actually write any Quidditch games because they're god awful to read.

[Familiars] - Now with actual mechanics and semi-relevance beyond carrying the post!

[Animagi] - Also slightly changed! Or majorly changed? For such a neat concept with a lot of implied rules, almost nothing ever got explained about them in canon, so...

[Parseltongue] - I've got a whole thing planned out for how parseltongue works that probably has nothing in common with canon and has more plotholes than is reasonable, but magic woo!

[McG yelling at Dumbledore] - I can easily see her ranting at him, and then he just does that "I'm over a century old and powerful and also angry at the situation" thing and she just kind of shuts down because it's rare to see Dumbledore that level of angry (the similarities to Ariana do nothing good for his temper on the issue), but will begin working with him once it's apparent he didn't actually know the extent of what was going on with the Dursleys. They haven't begun considering action against the Dursleys yet because helping Harry comes first. Also important to remember: intent is the main driving factor of HPverse magic, which is why Dumbledore's statement had the effect it did.

[Pronouns for Harry] - These are going to be a mess, as a warning in advance, partially because at the moment in-story Harry still doesn't know that being trans is a thing, and it's going to be awkward if the pronouns in the author's notes don't match up with the ones in the chapter. Non-zero chance I stick with 'they' for Harry in the author's notes until Harry in-story fully switches over to female pronouns.


	4. Chapter 4

"So then we both spent some time going over why the snitch was so important to the game, given that the rest of the sport seemed to be perfectly serviceable without a thing like that." Hermione said, after finishing off her plate. She glanced between her parents, both of whom were smiling brightly at her. They had gotten home late, but still early enough that they didn't want to go out for dinner. She had quickly gotten down much of her food before telling her parents all about the celebrity she had met in the bookstore! Sure, he hadn't seemed like much of a celebrity, but he liked books and hadn't been mean to her, which hadn't been the case for most kids she had met since she started skipping grades. She just hoped he remembered to write her. "And he's promised to write me!"

Hermione's parents shared a glance at that, before her mom responded. "That's great, dear." Hermione nodded happily. "Just don't be too surprised if it takes a while for him to write you. He's a celebrity, and that means he must get lots of mail."

Hermione felt a brief moment of fear at that. Her mother was right, Harry probably had better things to do than just write a random girl from a bookshop. Even if he was new to the magical world as well, given what he'd said in the bookshop, surely that just meant he'd be inundated with letters now. She'd just have to settle for finding him on the train. "I'll still try to find him on the trip up, at least." Assuming he didn't attract a bunch of people to his compartment. Why did making friends have to be so hard?

"I wouldn't worry about it too much, dear." her mother said. "I'm sure you'll make lots of friends at school." She was smiling, but Hermione had learned that smile was the one her mother made when she didn't quite believe what she was saying and thought it might hurt Hermione. "Now, off to bed with you! You've had quite the busy day, and don't forget to brush your teeth!"

"Yes, mum." Honestly, she was practically twelve, she hadn't needed reminders to brush her teeth in years. Part of living with dentists, she supposed.

/-|-o-o|-\

"You think she'll be alright?" asked Rupert, turning to his wife. The sounds of his daughter tromping up the stairs and water running letting him know that she wasn't listening in.

"You know how hard a time she's been having in school, and I doubt magical kids will be much different from how non-magical kids are." Emma said. "I'm glad that this Harry was nice to her, but if he's as much a celebrity as she's said, then I doubt he'll have any time for her."

Rupert sighed, picking at the last few remnants on his plate. "Maybe all the kids at the school will fit nicely into the 'wise and intellectual wizard' cliche?" His wife snorted. "Yeah, thought so." He put down his utensils and stood up to go put his dishes in the dishwasher. "Dan still coming over tomorrow to talk about being a shelter?"

"Yes, he'll be by around noonish to talk to us about how we'd like to be listed." Emma said. "If we're lucky, we can keep him around until dinner, and Hermione will probably be off at the library."

"Mmm, that would be nice." He and Emma hadn't had a decent chance to have Dan over in weeks, what with all the excitement around Hermione being a witch. "Do you think Dan counts as family enough for us to tell him about everything? Legally, anyway?" Sure, Hermione knew him as 'Uncle Dan,' but he was pretty sure she also knew that he wasn't really her biological uncle. Father, maybe, the three of them had never cared to know, but with her mother's curly brown hair instead of his wavy red or Dan's unkempt mess of black, it wasn't like it really mattered if anyone were to look closely. Thinking about it, had Emma gotten the chance to give Hermione the talk yet? Rupert knew that he wasn't going to be the one to do so, and as much as he wanted to ignore the fact, Hermione was growing up. And he doubted Dan wanted to be the one discussing matters with her either. Going off to boarding school made it all that much more important that she be educated.

"I'm not sure, to be honest." Emma said. Dan heard the slight scrape of her chair being pulled out, and turned around to watch her walk into the kitchen. "We're not exactly a very traditional family, in any sense, and I have no idea what the magical culture is like." She let out a sigh as she put her own dishes into the washer. "Or if their laws match up, or if the factions that hate non-magicals the professor told us about wouldn't go after us just to make a point."

"Now I wish we had gotten an owl. I don't really want to wait for regular post to try and get a response from her about it." Or to attempt to explain his and Emma's relationship with Dan to her, either. It was hard enough getting other people in the group to understand polyamory, and he certainly didn't want to have to try and explain it to someone who was by his understanding at least sixty years old.

"Well, not much use fretting about it now. Obviously we're going to have to tell Dan, we can't just say we decided to send Hermione off to boarding school without even talking to him." Emma said. "I'm not even that comfortable with all we've done without him already, but given that it's us two that are legally married…"

"He's going to think we've gone round the bend, probably." Dan shrugged. "Not sure what we can do about that, maybe ask to look at some of Hermione's textbooks and whatnot so we can show them to him?"

"We could try and take him to the Leaky Cauldron?" Emma said. "Or, no, we'd need Hermione for that, wouldn't we?" She leaned back against the counter, deep in thought. "Maybe he'll just believe us anyway."

"Hopefully." Rupert wasn't too optimistic about that, though. Anytime magic was mentioned Dan just clammed up and denied any possibility of it.

/-|-o-o|-\

"And how are you finding Hogwarts, Harry?" Harry looked up from his food, glancing across the table to see Headmaster Dumbledore watching him. "I daresay the house elves have outdone themselves with tonight's meal." Harry still couldn't quite believe what the headmaster was wearing. If he hadn't caught Professor McGonagall occasionally glaring at the brightly colored robes from time to time, he might have thought he was dreaming.

"Ah, good?" Harry hadn't looked around the room too much, he was trying to write Hermione. Trying and failing, really, mostly because he had no idea what to say. Dinner was… well, it was probably the best thing he'd ever had, except for maybe the ice cream that he'd gotten earlier in Diagon Alley. Easily better than anything he'd ever gotten at the Dursley's, and not just because of the fact that he could eat as much as he wanted. The smallish side room that had turned out to be a semi-private dining hall was nice, he supposed. "What are house elves, though?" Harry said. He didn't think it likely that the elves from the Lord of the Rings would be making meals for a school.

"Hmm, how best to explain… They're a race of magical beings that primarily enter into contracts with wizards and witches to do menial tasks, and occasionally skilled labor." Dumbledore said. Harry thought he saw a flicker of something when the headmaster had said 'menial tasks,' but wasn't sure what. "They'll clean, cook, garden, sew, any number of things for the family or place they're bound to."

"If you've ever heard of brownies in muggle folklore, Mr. Potter, they're much like that." said Professor McGonagall. "The main thing to note is that house elves will stringently refuse any sort of monetary pay in most situations, and instead ask to draw magic from a family or place, or to be compensated with offerings to the fey realm."

"Indeed, at Hogwarts most elves are contracted for an amount of the castle's innate magic, which is refilled by a local leyline." Dumbledore added. "Though a few do ask for offerings from our greenhouses or from the lake."

"So they're like butlers or maids?" Harry asked.

"I think that's a close enough description, as long as you understand that they're very much more than that and quite proud as well." Dumbledore responded. "House elves take the image of their family or house quite seriously, and don't respond well to either insults upon their work or, in their words, attempts to devalue their art by insisting that it's anything money can buy."

"What happens if a house elf wants to leave?" Harry said. He supposed he wouldn't have hated doing things for the Dursley's if they'd actually thanked him for it and allowed him to say no to certain things.

Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall shared a glance. "It's rather rare for such a thing to occur, but generally the house elf in question would simply tell the current contract holder and ask to be released." the headmaster said. "Usually, such requests are granted, and the house elf may mention a different house elf they feel better suited to take their place." He put down his utensils and sighed. "However, sometimes the witch or wizard in question will deny them, and that's when things get messy."

"Messy?" Harry replied.

"Quite so. House elves are immensely cunning, despite what many witches and wizards think." Dumbledore said.

"It doesn't help that house elves primarily speak elvish, and that translates rather poorly to most human languages." Professor Mcgonagall added.

"Very true, Minerva. The general wording on the house elf contracts state that they must do the bidding of the contract holder, but unlike most magical workings, the house elf contracts function exactly as worded, instead of on intent." Dumbledore took a sip from his goblet. "And I'm sure if it was legal to do so, almost everyone would hire house elves as their representatives before the Wizangamot or to make their deals with Gringotts." He looked at Harry then, and spoke in a tone that seemed to reinforce everything he was saying. "House elves will hold the exact letter of every order they recieve, Harry, and not a single bit more." The moment passed, and Dumbledore continued as though nothing special had just happened. "If the contract holder asked them to wash their robes, they might find that the washing had been done so terribly as leave even the sturdiest of cloaks threadbare and ragged. If asked for a dinner, they might get something that left them sick for a week." Dumbledore appeared to stare off beyond Harry as he went on. "Or the most obvious one, the house elf might get everything the contract holder asked for done quickly and find themselves with free time, time in which they haven't been told not to do certain things." A slight chuckle escaped the headmaster then. "The number of powerful witches and wizards who have been brought down when a house elf of theirs has used said time to engage in lengthy conversations with their enemies elves is quite large."

Harry took a moment to take all that in, before asking his next question. "Why do house elves contract with us at all, though?"

"The amount of magic or other such things offered is usually quite significant, and the ability to act somewhat freely in our realm is a major reason as well." said Professor McGonagall. "From what little witches and wizards have managed to gather, it's also a sign of status to them to be able to maintain a home or family here." She let out a short laugh. "There's a theory that says the house elves that come here are essentially the upper crust of the fey realm, taking care of humans as charity to show off to the others back home."

"Yes, that article was an interesting read, Minerva." Dumbledore said. "However, I do believe we've gotten rather far from what we initially wished to discuss with young Harry." Professor McGonagall let the smile fade from her face.

"I suppose so, Albus." She turned to look at Harry. "First off, I'd like to make it perfectly clear: You won't be going back to Privet Drive." He felt a small bit of tension build in his chest. Were they already kicking him out? "However, you're only allowed to stay here for a week before we need to contact the board of governors and get dispensation for you to remain here over the summer holidays." She glanced over at Dumbledore. "I've already offered to house you if we can't find another suitable candidate in that time frame, but I'm less than ideal for a number of reasons."

The headmaster cleared his throat. "I'm afraid that as she's deputy headmistress, a large number of important tasks are assigned to her with alarming frequency."

Professor McGonagall shot him a look. "I'd have less of those if you'd drop one or two of your other titles and focus on being headmaster." Dumbledore shrugged. "But yes, I'm always busy during the summers and while I have no doubt that you'd be able to manage on your own, I'd prefer you to have someone able to watch over you properly."

Harry looked between the two adults, a little bit calmer knowing that he wouldn't be shoved onto the streets. "There's no one from my dad's side of the family?"

Professor McGonagall took on a pained expression. "No one that we'd trust, or that wouldn't result in a massively lengthy court battle."

"A court battle?" Harry asked. "The Dursleys probably wouldn't even show up."

"On that, I think you might be mistaken." Dumbledore said. Professor McGonagall shot a furious glare at him and made to speak before he cut her off. "Although they might only be doing so to maintain the stipend that was outlined in your parent's will for whoever took you in. However, in such a case, I imagine they would find themselves engaged in a rather different court battle quite quickly." He sighed. "However, they are not the ones we're worried about. There's no direct relations on your father's side, however, you are distantly related to the Black family, which has two remaining members that could seek custody of you. One of these families is the Tonks, related through Andromeda Tonks, who was kicked out of the family for marrying a muggleborn wizard. She has a daughter just entering her last year at Hogwart's this year, who you might see around if you end up in Hufflepuff."

Professor McGonagall shot an odd look at the headmaster. "Yes, Nymphadora is certainly a… unique individual." Taking a sip from her goblet, she picked up where Headmaster Dumbledore had left off. "Unfortunately, Andromeda has a sister named Narcissa who was not kicked out of the family, and would undoubtedly have a stronger case for gaining custody of you. The issue with this is that her husband, a Lucius Malfoy, was known to be one of the followers of Death's Flight."

"Wait, what?" Harry asked. "How is he not in jail, then? Or did he get out or something?"

"Mr. Malfoy was able to avoid being imprisoned by claiming to have only followed Death's Flight while under the imperius curse." Harry's confusion must have been evident, because she spoke up quickly to explain. "One of a handful of curses considered so reprehensible that merely using it on an unwilling sentient target carries a life sentence in Azkaban, the highest security and most terrible prison the magical world has. The imperius curse can very loosely be described as a mind control curse."

"So he didn't really-" Harry began.

"Oh, he most certainly agreed with the policies and rhetoric espoused by Death's Flight. The only debate is whether or not he actually needed to be controlled into acting on the man's orders." Professor McGonagall sighed. "It's also entirely possible that Death's Flight would imperius loyal followers at random, just so if caught they could claim that they were imperiused to take certain actions, and so avoid jail time."

Harry felt his head begin to spin. "That sounds horrible. How would you even begin to sort out who was willing and who wasn't?"

"Unfortunately, Mr. Potter, there isn't really a good answer to that. A large number of witches and wizards who were caught eventually ended up being released due to lack of evidence." she said.

Headmaster Dumbledore chose that moment to speak up. "And perhaps most importantly, this means that we must find you a suitable guardian who will not have ties to those suspected of being a death eater, or who would cause those same families to have reason enough to seek custody." He leaned back into his chair. "Which means, most probably, that we'll be looking to have you stay with a muggleborn family."

"I guess I can understand that…" Harry said, staring at his plate. He certainly didn't want to trade the Dursleys for the Dursleys but with magic.

"And now, Harry, I feel I must apologize for the circumstances that lead to you being placed with your mother's sister and her family." Dumbledore said. Harry looked up at him. "While it is true that the Dursleys had the strongest claim on you due to the closeness of their relation, I myself did not entirely do my diligence in making sure that they were taking care of you."

"That's- That's really okay, sir, you can't have-" Harry said.

"I fear that is not entirely the case, my boy." Dumbledore said, sounding slightly choked up. "I was not in the best frame of mind at the time, and while I was quite busy with the chaos caused by the death of Voldemort, those are not excuses for why I should have given carte blanche to the Dursleys in dictating the terms under which they would take you in." Professor McGonagall reached over and put her hand on top of his. "They demanded to have no contact with the magical world, largely owing to the dramatic split Mrs. Dursley had with her sister over her sister having magic and her not. I skirted the rules there, having someone close by to watch you, someone who could send me messages if there were obvious issues in the household, but did not pay enough attention to the reports I was given. I ignored multiple warning signs, and while I'd like to say that the safety of having you in a house that contained some small part of your mother's blood was worth it, I do not honestly know that I can do so."

"My mother's blood?" Harry said, still reeling from what the headmaster was saying.

"I believe that by being able to share a home with your mother's blood, carried by her sister, the protection Lily gave to you the night Voldemort tried to kill you would last you until you no longer called that place home." The headmaster drew in a deep breath. "However, that protection would only be from physical threats, and only from those originating outside the family."

"But did I really need that protection?" Harry asked. He couldn't believe that all the suffering he had gone through, years of torment and abuse happened mostly because of an attempt to protect him from some nebulous threat, probably long dead.

"Until a few years ago, I would have said yes." Harry stared at the headmaster. "Even up to months after Voldemort's fall, there were many of his followers still going around and attacking random innocents. You were a tempting target, and in those months I know of at least five separate attacks that were aimed at yourself." Harry gaped. "The attacks became less frequent, with the latest one having been four short years ago."

"Wait, was that what those people in black who were following me home from school that day wanted?" It was a particularly vivid memory for Harry, because they hadn't shouted abuse or hatred at him directly, instead remaining silent as they casually followed him through the park and seemed to drip with malice. Harry had run and ducked under the slide when they weren't looking, and waited for them to leave.

"I suspect so. However, Harry, that doesn't mean that it was worth keeping you with the Dursleys." Dumbledore said.

"But if that was where I was safest, wouldn't it better I stay there and stay alive?" Harry said.

"There are far worse fates than death, Harry. Abuses of magical children, and I do not say this to alarm, but abuses of magical children, particularly the kind that attempts to keep them from their magic, can cause the most serious of issues." Dumbledore's eyes seemed to mist over. "My sister was the victim of such an incident, many years ago, and it led to her death when she was no longer able to control her magic. It would burst out of her violently, and caused immense strain between myself and the rest of my family." A chill went down Harry's spine. "Child abuse is rare among magicals, not least for this reason. Accidental magic is some of the most powerful there is, since there is often nothing other than sheer panicked intent without any guiding caution." Dumbledore closed his eyes. "I hope that I can begin to make up for my mistakes in causing the miseries of your childhood."

"I... " Harry felt as though he was missing something. "Aren't you the headmaster of the school? Why would you be expected to handle all of… that?"

"While I am indeed, the headmaster here, I also hold many more titles and positions, both in England's magical government and in the International Confederation of Wizards. There is very good reason for me to feel personally responsible for some measure of your suffering, through neglect and willful ignorance." Dumbledore said.

"But why do you have all those positions? I can't imagine being able to handle all of those things at once." Harry thought it was like when Aunt Petunia expected him to have all the dusting, mowing, and cleaning done by noon for one of her gatherings. It simply wasn't possible, no matter how hard he had tried.

"While I enthusiastically pursued the post of headmaster here, I have become increasingly aware as of late that you are correct-" Professor McGonagall snorted. "In stating that I am not able to handle 'all of those things.' Many of those positions were foisted upon me by others, some in part due to my accomplishments, others because quite simply I am well known and well regarded within the international community." Dumbledore took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I fear I could not quite turn down many of these offers, simply because I, in my hubris, assumed that I would be able to handle everything, and handle it better than anyone else." The headmaster looked up at the ceiling of the small dining room they were in. "And in some ways, I felt responsible for helping them. When you have been a teacher for as long as I have, you end up being able to recognize a vast majority of the magical community, and still feel as though they are the bright-eyed and fresh faced students that you took charge of for seven long years." He glanced over at Professor McGonagall. "And as I'm sure Minerva can attest, I don't merely look the part of doting grandfather, most times I tend to act that way as well." The professor rolled her eyes at that.

Harry sat silent for a moment, trying to figure out how he felt. All the events of the day came crashing back onto him, the emotions that had been buried for so long straining to break free. He could just barely hold back the tears that were threatening to spill. "I don't-" Harry paused, trying to maintain his composure. "I'm really not-" His fists clenched in his lap, slightly too long fingernails biting into his palm. "I'm just me, sir. I'm not that important." He looked down at his plate to avoid seeing the headmaster. "I'm no one special, and you don't have to apologize for anything. You tried, and-" Harry bit back a sob. "It's over now, so you don't have to worry about it anymore." He felt someone lightly touch his shoulder and flinched away, blinking back tears to see Professor McGonagall standing by him.

"Mr. Potter, I can assure you that you most certainly are important, and quite special." she said.

"And even if you were not, Harry, that in no way means that we would do any less than what we are doing right now." Headmaster Dumbledore added. "Nor would it absolve me of my own derelictions in finding you a suitable home, or in making sure that you were given as happy a childhood as possible."

They stayed like that for a while as Harry continued to silently cry, giving him the time to compose himself. When he finally felt like he could shed no more tears, Professor McGonagall handed him a handkerchief, and he cleaned himself up as best he could. "Thank you, Professor."

"That's quite alright, Mr. Potter." she said. "I've always found it better to just let it out, myself."

"Quite so." Dumbledore said. "But I think it might be time to move to some lighter topics, over dessert." He then clapped his hands twice and the platters that before had held various roasts and vegetables were suddenly replaced by dishes of ice cream and trays of treacle tart. Harry found that he quite liked the tart, and did his best to participate in the lively conversation on quidditch that broke out over the treats.

/-|-o-o|-\

AN: [Letter]: Hermione is not giving up on getting a letter from Harry quite that easy, but her expectations have fallen somewhat. She has written some authors, and gotten responses from a few, so she doesn't think it impossible that Harry will follow through.

[The Grangers]: If anyone's wondering about the exact dynamic going on here, Rupert and Emma (and I couldn't resist going against the Dan and Emma trope a small bit) are officially married and have Hermione as their daughter. Dan is someone who's generally assumed to be a close family friend, and who was independently wealthy enough to help them start up their dental practice. In actuality, Dan, Rupert, and Emma are a polyamorous triad, with Dan essentially being part of the family in all but name and public perception. Neither Dan nor Rupert have cared enough to find out who the biological father of Hermione is, and both of them love her no matter whose child she is.

[Dinner]: I'm immensely sorry with how long this scene ended up being, but it kind of just kept going on and on.

[House Elves]: Basically, when someone wants a house elf, they have to either ask a house elf if they know one that would be willing to work for them, or directly petition the fey realm. No one intelligent directly petitions the fey realm. House elves have their own language, which is part of why they aren't so hot at English or other human languages, but they're more than willing to play up how bad it is for a laugh (and to keep humans in the dark about how clever they are, but that's another thing). House elves have enough ways to get even that it's generally considered a capital B capital I Bad Idea to mess with them or abuse their generosity, but it still happens with some frequency. There are some laws against actual physical abuse, but generally they don't tend to be enforced because the elves do a good enough job of taking revenge on their own (not that that makes it right or okay, but people are rarely perfect, and frequently willing to overlook things that aren't their problem or that might benefit them). If Lucius wants to hit his elf or punish them, well, it's all the more likely that his elf will manage to completely fuck him over somehow, so why put a direct stop to it?

[Custody Battle]: In an ideal world, Harry probably ends up at the Tonks. However, the possibility that Narcissa could challenge Andromeda for custody and win was considered too high for that to really be an option, by both Dumbledore and the rest of the order at the time.

[Attacks]: There's certainly no shortage of fanfics that make the claim that Harry didn't need the protection of living with Petunia, however, I find that unsatisfying as a perspective since it's certainly not what the characters in story would have guessed. Remember, the attack on the Longbottoms came something like a few days after Voldemort fell, and that's the incident that's going to stick in everyone's minds as they debate whether the Dursleys are the right place for Harry to stay. The initial placement was a panicked "We need to get the kid to safety, NOW." response, but in the aftermath of that attack it was widely considered to be prudent to keep Harry there until at least the time they went to Hogwarts.

[Dumbledore]: Part of why Dumbledore reacts so strongly here is that he's got more of a personal interest due to the parallels to Ariana that he can make, and he's had enough years of experience to know that generally, owning up to one's shortcomings immediately is far better than spouting excuses left and right. He's seen far too many prominent witches and wizards fail to grasp this to fall victim to that way of thinking, and he truly does care for Harry. Sharing some of his usually well guarded history is his way of trying to show that, and hopefully it feels natural for the character as I'm writing him.


End file.
